


Necare, Captivare, Subcumbere

by InfiniteCrisis



Series: The Infinitives Series [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Also some actual murder, Anal Caning, Anal Fingering, Anal Hook, Anal Sex, And Will Graham Loves Him, Ass to Mouth, BDSM, Begging, Blood, Bloody Kisses, Bondage, Caning, Canon-Typical Violence, Cock Bondage, Collars, Come Eating, Conflicted Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Deepthroating, Discussions of Murder and Cannabalism, Discussions of Past Trauma, Dom Will Graham, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Hand Jobs, Hannibal Lecter On A Leash, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal's Ass Takes A Beating, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Masochism, Mild Gore, Open-Mouth Gag, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Paddling, Painful Sex, Predicament Bondage, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, SO MUCH you guys, Sadism, Spanking, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Subspace, Under-negotiated Kink, Will Graham Has An Over-Active Imagination, Will Graham Just Has A Lot Of Feelings, Will Graham Kink Shames Himself, Will Is Trying To Be Responsible, Will Loves Hannibal, also a little negotiated kink? maybe? kinda?, but with fingers, consensual degradation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:04:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCrisis/pseuds/InfiniteCrisis
Summary: To Kill, To Take Captive, To SubmitWill and Hannibal commit their first premeditated murder together.  Also, Will builds himself kinky playroom.  These events are not /entirely/ unrelated.





	1. Necare

**Author's Note:**

> This should be apparent from the tags but: graphic violence in this chapter. Nothing TOO bad, honestly, but still. Don't say you weren't warned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first official Hannigram Murder Scene, so please be kind! I'm just a humble smut writer, lol...

 

Will let the tablet he was holding fall from his hand onto the desk with a light clatter.  Hannibal looked up from the book he’d been reading, arching his brow.  Instead of answering the unspoken question aloud, Will simply gestured in off-hand invitation and walked away. 

Setting down his book carefully, Hannibal picked up the tablet and examined the screen.  After a moment, he lifted one deft finger to scroll and click through the contents.  Will hung back with his hands in his pockets, trying to act casual and fighting the urge to fidget.

“In the interest of clarity,” Hannibal remarked after a moment, not looking up.”  “What precisely am I meant to be looking at?”

“A target.” 

Hannibal paused at Will’s prompt response, his eyes flicking up to meet Will’s for just a moment before returning to the screen.  His expression was unreadable, the lines of his face unmoving.  Every so often, his index finger moved across the glass, graceful and unhurried, and each motion grated against Will’s skin like a persistently growing itch between his shoulder-blades.   

“You don’t like it.”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked up again, this time accompanied by a slight curve to his lip and eyebrow.  “That seems an odd conclusion to draw, given the lack evidence presented.” 

Will bit back an annoyed sigh and shifted on his feet.  “So…?” Will prompted with a wave of one hand when Hannibal failed to continue.

Hannibal’s head tilted.  “Are you asking for my opinion?”

Will fought the urge to roll his eyes.  “Yes.” He said tightly.

Hannibal blinked, considering.  “Is my opinion important to you?” 

Will bit down on another sigh, puffing the air out through his nose.  “This _is_ meant to be a collaboration,” Will said, a tad acerbically.  “Isn’t it?  Besides,” he went on.  “You have a bit more experience with this than I do.” 

There was a nearly imperceptible shift behind Hannibal’s eyes.  “Killing, you mean?”

“Planning.” Will retorted. 

The corner of Hannibal’s lip quirked upward, but he said nothing.  A moment passed.  Will let out a soft sigh, forcing a calmness to settle into his chest. 

“I’d like to hear what you think,” he said plainly.     

Hannibal regarded him silently for a moment.  He then set the tablet back onto the desk, leaning his elbows on the surface and folding his hands together.  “It’s challenging.” 

Will bit the back of his tongue and nodded, this time giving in to the urge to roll his eyes.  “So, you don’t like it.”

“That’s not what I said,” Hannibal protested.

“We’ll pick something else,” Will said, already reaching to retrieve the tablet from Hannibal’s desk, and Hannibal smoothly slid the device out of reach. 

“Challenges are not necessarily insurmountable.”  He fixed Will with pointed look.  “Provided one has sufficient focus, and will.” 

“Are you questioning my focus?  Or will?”  The question was asked with an arched eyebrow. 

There was a pause.  “You seemed somewhat hesitant.” 

“I wasn’t sure what _your_ response would be,” Will said firmly.  “I’m not questioning myself.” 

Hannibal took that in, then gave a slight nod.  “I don’t know what you imagined my objection might be.  If this is the direction you wish to proceed I am certainly more than happy to assist.” 

A faint blush rose to Will’s cheeks, and he felt a slight twinge of mourning for what was left of his conscience.  “I’d rather you be a bit more excited about it than that.  I don’t want you to feel like you’re playing second fiddle.” 

Hannibal’s dark eyes filled with warmth.  “Believe me, there is no limit to my excitement at the prospect of spilling blood with you again.  Whatever the prey, the sheer joy of hunting by your side could never be diminished.” 

Will bit the inside of lip and swallowed, insecurity seeping back in.  “So, you’re not…disappointed?” 

Hannibal blinked, surprise evident in his stillness.  “How could I be?”  The question was asked with such raw sincerity that Will found himself letting out a soft bark of laughter. 

“Because I picked someone easy.  _Morally_ , I mean.  Because I’m still trying to justify this to myself.”  Will’s throat felt tight, and he turned his face away, unable to meet Hannibal’s eyes. 

There was a long silence. 

“Do you think my desire is to purge your morality entirely.” Hannibal’s voice was deliberately and painstakingly even.  “Remake you as an ideal of my own image, able to kill any and all without hesitation or regret?”

“Isn’t it?” The words came out in automatic response, like a trap he hadn’t known he’d set had been triggered.

Hannibal’s gaze shifted inward.  He sat back in his chair.  “Perhaps once, it was,” he said quietly.  He lifted his eyes, and despite the shadows Will could still see the glinting points of light reflecting from them.  “I saw something in you that I recognized, kept caged, and I wanted to release it.  I imagined you would then become your true self, fully realized.  You would no longer suffer from the inner conflicts that plagued you.  You would have clarity, and purity, of purpose.  That was what I hoped to give to you.”

It was almost amusing now, thinking back and looking at things from Hannibal’s point of view.  Will could see it more clearly now than at the time, his current perspective absurdly tinged with a sardonic fondness.  Of _course_ Hannibal would see himself as some kind of liberator.  

“Not sure you succeeded there, Doctor,” Will ribbed.  Hannibal smiled, taking it in good humor, and nodded.

“I misjudged you.  Conflict is your nature, and what fuels it cannot be eradicated.  Not without destroying more of you than I could bear.  Your morality, your compassion, your empathy—they are as much a part of you as your violence.”  There was barely noticeable hesitation.  “If I truly loved you, I came to realize I would have to love all of you.  And once that thought had solidified in my mind, it was clear to me that I already did.”  He took a breath and leaned forward again.  “From that point, all I wished for was your acceptance.  For you to embrace your own nature and take joy in it.  You relished in killing the Dragon, and it was glorious to behold.  Do you think the moment was lessened for me, because Dolarhyde was a murderer himself?”  He placed a single finger on the pad in front of him.  “If you can kill this man and take the same joy in it, without condemning yourself for that enjoyment…then there is nothing more I could desire.”

Will stood stock still, held rapt.  Slowly, he swallowed, then rounded the desk to stand over Hannibal’s shoulder.  He looked past him to the screen glowing on the desk. 

“So.  How do we do this.” 

He could almost feel Hannibal’s smile.  “This will take some time to prepare for.  I hope you’re not feeling impatient.” 

Will smirked and curled his hand over the back of Hannibal’s shoulder. “The preparation can be half the fun,” he quipped.  “Builds the anticipation.”

Hannibal’s grin widened, and they set to work. 

 

“What about the body?”

Hannibal blinked at Will’s abrupt question.  They’d been discussing the practicalities for a while now—how and when and what they’d need to procure ahead of time—but there hadn’t been mention yet of what Will felt was a fairly significant part of the equation.

“I assume you’ll be…keeping parts of it,” Will went on when Hannibal didn’t answer.  “Until they can be _tastefully_ disposed of.” 

Hannibal’s eyes twinkled.  “I would be loath to go through all this trouble and not even take a bite out of our prize.”  His expression sobered, growing subtly more reserved.  “Will I be enjoying him alone?” He asked simply.  “Or shall I prepare a meal for two?” 

Will was quiet.  He looked down at his hand, tapping idly on the back of the sofa, deliberately evading Hannibal’s gaze.  He let the question settle in to his bones, waited for something to rise out of him and start screaming. 

It didn’t. 

“Oh,” Will breathed, a soft smile curling at his lip.  “You know I can’t resist your home cookin’.”  He finally looked up again and found Hannibal eyeing him cautiously.  He was clearly unsure if Will’s statement was meant as a half-joke or a whole one.  After a moment though, realization seemed to dawn, and the edges of his face softened. 

Will put his hands in pockets and stood straight.  “There’s still the question of the rest of it.  Unless you’re planning to eat the whole thing.”

Hannibal tilted his head in acknowledgement.  “Even with two, that would be an endeavor, to finish it off before the meat spoiled.”

“We could throw a dinner party,” Will tossed out sardonically. 

Hannibal’s eyelids lowered for a moment.  “Perhaps one day.  But not with this one.”  _Not our first_ , Will heard clearly beneath the words.  “And even if we did, there would always be pieces left.  Hair, fingernails—things that aren’t suitable for anything appetizing.”  He fixed Will with a look.  “And I’m certainly not stuffing any pillows with them.” 

Will smirked.  No, honoring every part of this animal wasn’t something that interested either of them.

“What ever are we to do then?” Will murmured.       

Hannibal watched him, silent.  Then, he leaned back in his chair.  “Say what you mean, Will.  What are you really asking.” 

A beat hung in the air.

“Are you going to want to make a display of him.” Will finally said, plain and brusque. 

“Are you?” Hannibal responded in kind.

Will breathed in through his nose.  _No_ , he thought to himself.  _And not for the reasons you think_.  “I’m not sure that’s a kind of risk we should be taking.  The official word is that Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are presumed dead, but you and I both know there are more than a few out there that have their doubts.  A dramatic art installation featuring a corpse with missing pieces would be like sending up a flare.” 

Hannibal eyebrow quirked.  “Any ‘corpse with missing pieces’ at all, as you put it, might easily draw the attention of someone with a keen eye and a paranoid mind.  There is always an element of risk.  Death, like life, is ultimately a game of chance, and there is only so much we can do to tilt the scales in our favor.” 

“You’re advocating recklessness,” Will accused.  “Justified by the laws of probability.”

“No.” Hannibal shook his head, the movement minute but firm.  “Not at all.  Quite the opposite, in fact.”  With that, Hannibal stood, smoothly straightening the lines of his waistcoat.  “Follow me?” 

Will eyed Hannibal curiously, and then lifted his chin in a kind of nod.  Hannibal turned and Will trailed after him out of the library. 

The house, it seemed, had a basement.  Will had never noticed it, because the entrance was thoroughly disguised and elegantly hidden, but he honestly should have guessed it was there.  Will descended with Hannibal down the long stairway, one hand sliding along the wall that ran up against one side of it.  The other edge was completely open, with no banister or railing, but the stairway was wide enough that it didn’t feel entirely unsafe.  At the bottom was a wide open space, bare and dimly lit. 

“Improvements will need to be made, of course,” Hannibal was saying as Will took in his surroundings.  “But with a little work this will do very well for our purposes.”  He glanced to Will.  “It is much easier to perform the required operations in a safely secluded setting.”

Will’s mouth curved.  “Can’t have someone walking in, wondering why you’re elbow deep in someone’s chest.” 

“It would be inconvenient,” Hannibal concurred.  He held out a hand in front of him, gesturing. 

Will followed the indicated direction with his eyes and then they both crossed to the far side of the room.  There was a large furnace built into the side of the wall. 

“I bought this from a crematorium years ago on a whim, and asked Chiyoh to install it here before we moved in.  It feeds into the fireplace and chimney upstairs, though the high heats it utilizes should produce relatively little smoke, or smell.”  Here, he turned fully to face Will.  “We can bring our quarry here, take what we want, and dispose of the rest in this.  In the end, there will be nothing left but ash, and a few fine meals.”  He ended his explanation with a half-smile, pride in his thoughtfulness evident in every inch of his posture. 

Will eyed the contraption, quiet.  A hesitance he couldn’t quite explain swirled under his sternum.  The silence went on, and Will felt Hannibal shift beside him.  He could sense the man’s carefully restrained unease; he’d clearly been anticipating a more admiring reaction, and Will bit down on his tongue, vexed with himself that he couldn’t give it. 

“Will that be satisfying,” Will said finally, his voice sounding distant in his own ears.  He glanced at the man beside him, a faint frown on his face.  “Will you be _satisfied_ with that?” 

Hannibal eyed him strangely, head tilting, and didn’t answer. 

“The ‘Chesapeake Ripper’ has always been,” Will went on, turning to face Hannibal fully.  “ _Consistently_ theatrical.” 

Hannibal’s expression took on an amused tint, and Will wondered if he recognized the words he was reciting.  “Not that consistently,” Hannibal said with a smirk.  “Not all of his kills were so ostentatious.  Many, in fact, went completely unnoticed, and unremarked upon.” 

Will felt his breath hitch in his throat.  For a moment he felt dizzy, staggered by the sheer magnitude of what those words implied.  It should have terrified him.  _You are alone in a dark basement with serial killer_ , said a voice from the very back of his brain.  But that wasn’t what was frightening him.  It wasn’t fear of his own death that made his chest clench and ache. 

“But enough were.  Noticed.  And remarked upon.  If you were content with being _un_ noticed, you never would have bothered.”  He took a step in closer to Hannibal as he studied his face.  “No dinner parties to host, no masterpieces to apply yourself to…”

“There are other avenues for artistic expression,” Hannibal murmured, gazing down at Will from under hooded eyes. 

“It wasn’t simply vanity.” Will went on, ignoring Hannibal’s interjection.  “Yes, it amused you to watch everyone running in circles trying to find you, failing even when you were right under their nose.  But you didn’t do it just to show off how much smarter than them you were.  That wasn’t what made you do it in the first place.  That isn’t why you _started_.” 

There was no pendulum, but Will could feel himself shifting, blurring into that other state, speaking aloud each thought as it came to him.  Hannibal said nothing, watching him, letting him grow closer and closer in more ways than one.

“You wanted to be _seen_ ,” Will whispered.  “It’s a need we all have—to be known and acknowledged for what we are.  Serial killers are no different.  That’s usually how they get _caught_.”  He paused, staring thoughtfully over the features of Hannibal’s face.  “One of the few ways you turned out to be surprisingly…typical.”  His eyes flicked up, meeting the hollow shadows of dark orbs that were Hannibal’s eyes.  “You could eat your meals and serve your dinners, laughing to yourself, but eventually you’d get tired of being the only one in on the joke.  Tired of everyone milling around you, looking and praising and never _seeing_ you.  Never seeing the beauty you could see.  So, you’d try to show them, just a little.  A peek behind the veil, careful not to show too much, to never reveal yourself completely.  Just enough to scratch that itch.  To feel _known_ , for just a moment, before slinking back into the dark.” 

Will blinked, his eyes refocusing on the man, real and breathing in front of him.  He swallowed.  “Are you really telling me,” he said, his voice growing even quieter.  “You won’t want that again?  That you won’t want to be seen?  To be known?”

Time seemed to stop for a moment, and then Hannibal’s palm came to rest at the curve of Will’s cheek.  His thumb brushed across his cheekbone, and he looked into Will’s eyes with a soft smile on his face. 

“I _am_ seen.  I _am_ known.” 

Will’s eyes felt wide and wild, the room around them spinning impossibly in his peripheral vision. 

“Will that be enough?” Will asked, half-choked and trembling. 

Hannibal’s eyes shifted into a warm kind of wonder. 

“Do you truly imagine other eyes could hold any meaning for me, now that I’ve had yours?  It would be like holding sputtering candles up to the light of the sun, and expecting them to improve the illumination.”

His hand fell away and Will was left standing alone before he’d even processed what Hannibal had said.  He blinked back tears and swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. 

“It’s nearly time to start supper,” Will heard him say over his shoulder.  He turned and found Hannibal already stepping on the bottom step of the stairs.  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you want to find me.”

Will stayed where he was.  He waited a while, and then finally started making his way back upstairs, even though some parts of the world were still spinning.

 

 

 

The next time they went down to the basement it was discuss remodeling.  It was almost domestic, even if it did tilt more towards utilitarian necessities than picking out throw pillows.  On their way back up, Will noticed a door in the wall by the staircase he’d missed before, as it was painted the same drab color as the walls. 

“Where does that lead?” He asked with a tilt of his head. 

Hannibal glanced at the door.  “The other side of the basement, I believe.”  He reached out and opened it up with a gentle swing.  Indeed, behind the door was another bare room similar to the one they were in, if a bit smaller, and now that Will thought about it the square footage of the basement they’d been looking at didn’t quite match the upstairs. 

“Hm.” Will looked over the blank walls of the newly revealed space.  “Were you planning on using this for anything?”

“Not particularly,” Hannibal commented.  “There’s already plenty of room for what we require.  And I prefer to keep everything needed on hand and in sight, when possible, for efficiency’s sake.”

Will couldn’t help but smirk at that, thinking of Hannibal’s always expertly designed and stocked kitchens. 

“I wonder why the basement was divided,” Will mused aloud.  “Was it simply structural reasons, or were the rooms used for something at some point?”

“I’m not sure,” Hannibal said lightly.  “I bought the house after it was built, and wasn’t consulted on architectural decisions.” 

Will shot him a dry look and Hannibal gave a jovial one in response before continuing to make his way upstairs. 

“Can I have it?”  Will asked, the question popping out almost before he'd thought about why he was asking. 

Hannibal stopped on the stairway, turning to look back at where Will was still standing by the open door.  Will thought about taking his resquest back, or trying to explain it, but instead he just bit down on his tongue and waited, looking up expectantly.

“Of course,” Hannibal said after a moment’s pause.  “Do whatever you like with it.” 

Will nodded, taking a last look through the door before letting it swing shut and following Hannibal up out of the basement. 

 

The next day, Will installed a lock on the door, turning the bolt when he was done and slipping the key into his pocket.  He saw Hannibal make note of it, but he didn’t ask any questions, and Will didn’t offer any answers. 

 

 

They worked on the basement together, for the most part.  Hannibal had more experience with some aspects, and Will was content to leave those to him.  There were also supplies that needed to be procured, usually through underground and illicit contacts.  Will left that to Hannibal as well. 

Behind the locked door, Will worked alone, usually when Hannibal was out of the house.  Sometimes though, Hannibal was there to watch him disappear behind the door, locking it securely from the other side.  Will could feel his curiosity, but Hannibal never questioned and never pried.  He was the same when packages began arriving at the house, things Will had ordered on his own account Hannibal had set up for him.  He hadn’t used it until now, but found himself reveling in a strange delight that came with keeping Hannibal in the dark.  He started browsing for more and more things to order, just to see Hannibal’s face when yet another box arrived addressed to Will’s alias instead of his own.  Will felt certain eventually Hannibal would give in and open one, but he didn’t, not even when Will left one sitting on the kitchen table for nearly a day.  While Will considered it a work in progress, he had to admit that it was more than perfectly _usable_ at this point.  He kept meaning to bring Hannibal down there and show him the—if not finished product, at least the current stage of development, but he could never quite bring himself to.  It just never quite seemed like the right moment.   

They finished the rest of basement in less time than Will would have thought, and then all of their other preparations soon after.  Now they just needed to wait for an opportunity. 

“You have not chosen easy prey, Will.  We will need to take every advantage.” 

Hannibal said that both when he explained the need to watch and wait, and when he came home one day and placed a gun and holster on the table between them. 

“You think that will be necessary?”  Will asked with a nod to the weapon. 

“Hopefully not.  Using it would cause complications.  But I’d rather we kept all avenues available to us.” He shifted his shoulders, a movement not quite like a shrug.  “Consider it a last resort.” 

Will had nodded, and picked up the gun and holster from the table.

 

 

They didn’t need the gun. 

Ample preparation and patience had worked remarkably well in their favor, and Will found himself genuinely surprised at how easy it had been.  He wasn’t sure if that meant they were really that good, or if certain people were just very bad at their jobs. 

And now they had an unconscious kingpin restrained on an operating table in their basement.  Hannibal had choked him initially--an image that Will was certain he would revisit many times in the future--but his current, extended unconsciousness was due to the drugs flowing through his body. 

“To keep his system calm during the procedure,” Hannibal had explained.  “You know how the meat sours with adrenaline.”

Will shook his head, smiling to himself.  It really was so much about the food for him, wasn’t it?  Obviously, the murder too, of course—power over life and death and all that—after all, if he’d wanted to, Hannibal was a skilled enough surgeon he could have probably kept up a lot of his eating habits while leaving his victims alive.  Will made a note to run that idea by Hannibal at some point, just to see his reaction. 

For the present moment though, Will simply watched as Hannibal opened up their current victim and sifted through his insides.

“What will you take?”  Will asked. 

“Kidneys, I think,” Hannibal answered, peering into the gaping hole in the man’s torso.  “There’s a recipe for steak and kidney pie I’ve been meaning to perfect.  Perhaps some of the belly as well, since he's so well fatted.”  He tossed Will a roguish smile. 

Will smiled back.  He felt…calm, but somewhat disconnected.  Numb.  There was none the intensity, the elation, the _splendor_ of killing Dolarhyde—and of course, there wouldn’t be, Will realized, frowning slightly.  That had been a battle.  This was… _grocery_ _shopping_. 

“Anything you’d like?” Hannibal asked after he’d removed the kidneys and a few slices of belly fat and placed them on ice. 

Will blinked at the question, contemplating.  He realized he hadn’t even had the instinctual response of answering _no_.  He looked down at the man on the table.  The head of a crime syndicate that specialized in drugs and human trafficking.  Kept smaller communities in check with intimidation.  Countless people had been killed and tortured on his orders. 

“He wasn’t a particularly imaginative crime lord,” Will said, thinking out loud.  Hannibal raised an eyebrow, but let Will continue uninterrupted.  “Mostly kept with the classics.  If someone got in his way, they’d get shot in the head.  If he wanted them alive for some reason, he’d have their legs broken.”  Will lifted his gaze and met Hannibal’s eyes.  “Let’s take his legs.” 

Hannibal lips only curved up a little, but Will could see he was positively giddy.  “Plenty of recipes call for a good cut of leg,” he said amicably.  He moved down the man’s body, cutting off the trousers to reveal the flesh underneath.  “Below the knee?” He asked, checking for Will’s approval.

“Mm,” Will hummed, nodding.  “Best not to get greedy,” he quipped.  Hannibal’s grin widened, and he deftly tied off each limb. 

“Would you care to carve?” Hannibal said with a mirthful lilt in his voice and offered Will the scalpel.  Will looked at it, almost wistfully, but then demurred. 

“I don’t have your precision,” he said gruffly.  “I’d hate to ruin the cut.” 

Hannibal blinked.  His eyes dimmed somewhat, but he said nothing as he retracted his arm. 

Cutting through the bones took a bit more time—and a saw—but soon enough the job was done.  Two legs and two kidneys, some strips of would-be bacon, all fresh from the butcher’s block. 

Will was still staring down at their victim, not able to look away.  He could feel Hannibal’s eyes on him, like a prickle on his skin. 

“He’s still alive,” Will commented, with a little wonder. 

“Yes,” Hannibal replied.  “The human body can take a surprising amount of destruction, before finally giving out.”

“Mm,” Will grunted, still staring.  There was a long silence, like they were both waiting for something.  Will felt himself take a breath, three words itching behind his teeth. 

 _This will change you_ , a voice whispered to him.  _This will change everything._

 _I’m already changed._ Or…maybe he wasn’t.  Maybe he hadn’t changed at all.  Maybe _that_ was the comforting lie he kept telling himself.  Maybe he’d always been this.  Because as grotesque and horrifying as this all was—and he _knew_ that it was—

It also wasn't.  And it also wasn't enough.  

“Wake him up.” 

Will felt Hannibal’s startlement, and he straightened his back to meet Hannibal’s eyes squarely.  “Wake him up,” he repeated, firm and resolute.  Hannibal, by contrast, looked almost hesitant, watching Will with a tempered kind of wariness.  Still, he made the necessary motions to take their guest off his anesthetic and bring him back to consciousness. 

It happened slowly, so very slowly.  It really took a remarkable amount of time for the man to start screaming.  Eyes wild, he fought against his restraints, shouting in Spanish too rapid and strained for Will to understand. 

“No one can hear you, _Se_ _ñor_ ,” Hannibal said, his Spanish—calm and even—much easier for Will to make out, even despite his accent.  “No one who will help you, anyway.”

Hannibal’s cool and unfeeling response seemed to bring the man up short, and he suddenly glanced around in frantic disbelief, fully taking in his surroundings. 

“You will pay for this,” he spat out in English this time, correctly spotting them as foreigners. 

“I doubt that,” Hannibal said, also switching to English.  “No one saw us take you.  We have no connection to you or any of your businesses.  We are neither rivals, nor any of the many people you have wronged.  There is no reason for anyone to suspect us in your disappearance.  And your body will never be found.” 

Taking in each of those progressing statements, the man started to go very, very pale. 

“ _Dios me ayude,_ ” he whispered, shuddering. 

Hannibal lifted a sardonic brow.  “Do you think he’s likely to?” 

Here, the man finally seemed to notice Will for the first time. 

“Please,” he whimpered.  “I…I can get you things.  Anything you want.” 

Will couldn’t help himself: he burst out laughing. 

“Oh, Señor,” Will drawled as the man looked at him with dawning horror.  “Do you really think there’s anything you can do to affect the course of how this is going to go?”  Rounding the table, Will came to stand next to an array of tools and implements carefully displayed on the wall.  He slid his fingers over one, and then another.  “You’ve killed _so_ many people, Señor,” Will murmured as he perused.  “Destroyed so many lives.  And now, you’re going to die.”  He glanced over his shoulder at the man strapped to the table.  “And it’s going to hurt.  And then,” he concluded, finally picking up a power drill by the handle and turning to face the man he was about to kill.  “We’re going to eat you.” 

The man was visibly shaking now, and Will drank in his fear as he walked toward him. 

“Y…you will burn Hell for this,” the man wailed brokenly as Will came to stand over him. 

“Maybe,” Will agreed.  “But you’ll get there first.” 

He turned on the drill, the sound of it almost enough to drown out the man’s screams.  Then there was a splatter of blood and bone as Will drilled a hole through the man’s skull, digging in deeper and deeper till his brains were scrambled in his head.

Kind of like a bullet.  But slower.

When he was done, Will had blood on his face and ‘Señor’ was very, very dead.  He turned off the drill with sigh, a heady glow flowing through his limbs. 

“How do you feel?”  Hannibal’s voice was so soft, Will almost didn’t hear him over the sound his own blood pumping through his veins.  Will looked up and found Hannibal’s eyes again, pouring every once of what he feeling into them. 

“ _Righteous_.”

Hannibal’s lips parted, and for a moment there was such raw lust showing on his face that Will thought he might try to fuck him right here on Señor’s fresh corpse.  Then he blinked, and appeared to restrain himself. 

“Let’s move him into the furnace.  Then we’ll clean up.”

They set the furnace running, leaving it to do it’s work overnight, then sprayed and scrubbed the room and everything in it, including themselves.  Not a single drop of their victim’s blood would ever leave this basement. 

Aside from the meat, of course.  Once Hannibal had properly butchered and wrapped it all, that went straight to the kitchen.

Will felt dazed, drifting upstairs to his bed like he was in a dream.  Hannibal hovered at the door to his room, like he was thinking of leaving Will alone for the night, and Will quickly pulled him inside.  They undressed and crawled into bed together, and Will grabbed hold of Hannibal and held onto him, pulling him tightly to his chest.  He could feel him half hard against his hip, but Hannibal made no overtures and Will was grateful. 

“Will…” Hannibal started, moving a soothing hand across Will’s brow. 

“I don’t regret it,” Will said, maybe a little too quickly.  He swallowed, and tried again.  “I don’t.  I just…haven’t settled yet.  It feels like I might float away.” 

Hannibal was quiet, then pulled Will more firmly into their embrace. 

“How did _you_ feel?” Will asked quietly, sometime later.  “After?” 

There was a pause, and then Hannibal’s breath puffed against the skin of Will’s scarred cheek as his spoke. 

“ _Awed.”_        

 

 

 

Will woke to an empty bed, showered and dressed on autopilot, then went downstairs to the kitchen.  Hannibal was already up and a fresh plate of eggs awaited him on the center island, kept warm by the radiant heat of the stove.  He’d forgone the full table setting for once, and so Will perched on one of the stools at the counter and gulped down his coffee, relieved by the informality while simultaneously annoyed that Hannibal had clearly done it for the express purpose of producing that effect.  Though he wasn’t sure exactly who he was annoyed at—Hannibal, or himself.

He stared blankly down at his plate, poking idly at the eggs with his fork.  He could see bits of cooked meat folded into the fluffy yellow protein, adding a salty richness to the smell. 

“It’s smoked pork.” 

Will’s head snapped up.  Hannibal was looking at him, cool and calm as he dried his hands.  “I bought it in town last week.”

Will clenched his jaw, hating the dull ache that settled in his chest. 

 _I don’t regret it._  

Averting his gaze from Hannibal’s discerning eyes Will jammed a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 

It was delicious. 

“You’re not having any?” Will asked when the silence became unbearable. 

There was an awkward pause.  “I’ve already eaten.” 

Will nodded, though he couldn’t say why.  Habit, he supposed. 

 

They mostly avoided each other the rest of the day, and Will both appreciated the solitude and hated every second of it.  He kept replaying the night before in his mind, forcing himself to relive his own gluttonous violence again and again. 

He _didn’t_ regret it.  That man deserved to die, and he certainly didn’t deserve any mercy or consideration from Will.  If he could go back, Will knew he would do everything _exactly_ the same. 

He didn’t regret it. 

But he knew he _should_ , knew he should feel _something_ at least, and now he was filled with a hazy self-hatred at all the shame and disgust that was so pronouncedly absent.  At the same time, he felt guilty for feeling that way at all because _he had promised Hannibal he wouldn’t_.  That had been Hannibal’s one stipulation—that he could do this without self-recrimination—and now Will had failed him at the first hurdle and that failure _burned,_ like acid down his throat.

“I was thinking of venturing into the village square today,” Hannibal told him, the early afternoon sun lighting his hair like an ironic halo.  “Would you accompany me?” 

Will didn’t look up from the gears he was working on, components of a boat he’d bought off a local fisherman precisely because it was the most run-down, dilapidated thing he’d ever seen. 

“There’s usually a bit of a street fair around this time.  I thought we might wander and enjoy the atmosphere.  Perhaps sample some local cuisine from the vendors.  I can personally vouch for the beef and chicken empanadas.”

Will’s mouth twisted up at the corners.  “Hard to imagine you eating out of a bag, or off paper plates.”

Hannibal was quiet a moment, and then Will heard him take a breath.  “I know you think me pretentious, but I’m hardly disdainful of casual dining as a rule.  I’m well aware that pompous trappings and exorbitant prices aren’t in themselves a reflection of quality,” Hannibal replied, a bit stiffly.  “I’m perfectly willing to forgo our usual dinner for something more relaxed this evening.” 

Will bit down on the side of his tongue.  “But we just bought all those groceries,” he mumbled mockingly. 

A cool silence followed.  “It will keep,” Hannibal said quietly.  There was another pause, and the next word out his mouth was filled with unspoken emotion. 

“Please.”

Will shut his eyes, his hands finally stilling. 

He couldn’t say no. 

 

 

A half hour later they climbed into Hannibal’s car, Hannibal in the drivers seat, and ready to make the short drive down the hill into town.  Will frowned softly as he got in, taking note of a good-sized, tall, narrow cannister set in the back seat. 

“What’s that?” he asked with a jerk of his chin. 

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder as he buckled his seat-belt.  “Ah,” he said casually.  “That’s what’s left of our guest from last night.  I cleared out the incinerator early this morning.” 

Will froze, his eyes turning to bore holes into the man seated next to him.  Hannibal, for his part, seemed utterly untroubled and simply turned on the engine to begin rolling out of the garage. 

“You’re bringing the remains of our murder victim to a street fair?” Will ground out, tight and incredulous. 

Hannibal took a patient breath in through his nose.  “It’s doubtful anyone would recognize it as human remains even if the saw it, and if they did we could simply say they belonged to a loved one.  It’s hardly suspicious.” 

Will pursed his lips but said nothing else, slumping back into his seat.  They made the rest of the way in silence, Will all the while trying not to steal glances at the metal container sitting with apparent innocence in the seat behind him. 

 

 

The fair, if you could call it that, was smaller than Will had anticipated.  It was more of a farmer’s market, and those attending exuded the easy familiarity of people following a well-liked routine.  Will spent most of the time hanging back a few paces behind Hannibal as he wandered from stall to stall, perusing and picking up things here and there, all while smiling and chatting easily with all the vendors. 

Will didn’t exactly feel like he fit in, but he was comfortable in his exclusion, enjoying watching it all from a relative distance.  They snacked as they went, drank fresh lemonade from paper cups, and the empanada’s really were pretty good.  Though Will was pretty sure his favorite part was watching Hannibal eat his with his usual concentration and appreciation, all while flaky crust stuck to his lips and he was forced to suck juices from his fingers for lack of sufficient napkins.  After an hour or so of wandering Will found himself beginning to smile with genuine ease.  Taking a moment, he tilted his face back and closed his eyes, letting the bright, golden sunlight warm his skin.

 _The sun is still shining.  The world is still turning.  With or without me, life goes on._   He found the thought comforting, and he finally felt the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders begin to unwind. 

Will glanced over at Hannibal, and shuffled a bit closer behind his shoulder.  His smile broadened a bit as he approached; the woman Hannibal was speaking to was gesturing and chattering emphatically, clearly appreciating Hannibal’s attentive ear and warm countenance. 

“Enjoying the local gossip?” Will teased after Hannibal had extracted himself, having purchased a hunk of goat’s cheese for his trouble. 

Hannibal’s mouth curved, taking in Will’s improved mood.  “Yes.  Although the news isn’t so local in this case.  Apparently, there’s rumors that the head of some crime organization has gone missing.  His lieutenants are attempting to cover it up, but there’s clearly some chaos in the ranks.  A couple lower level members have already been arrested due to a breakdown of general order.”

The corner of Will’s mouth tugged upward.  “Are you trying to cheer me up?” He accused jokingly, leaning in towards Hannibal’s ear. 

Hannibal quirked an eyebrow agreeably.  “Is it working?” 

Will smiled widened.  He looked out over the milling crowd, sticking his hands in his pockets.  “Maybe.” 

The sun was just beginning to go down when they headed back to the car.  Hannibal loaded his various acquisitions into the trunk, and then, instead of opening the front door, retrieved the cannister from the back.  He closed the door, not looking at Will, and walked away from the car. 

Will watched him, brow furrowed, hand pausing on the door handle.  He wasn’t naïve enough to think Hannibal wasn’t aware of his attention, but he appeared to ignore it, wandering off down a narrow cobble-paved road.  After a moment, Will left the car and followed after. 

He caught up to him down a deserted alleyway.  He hung back near the entry while Hannibal ventured further into the dead-ended street.  With careful deliberateness, Hannibal took in his surroundings, lifting his nose and sniffing, eyes closed as though he were savoring the understated yet pungent stench of rotting garbage and urine that permeated the area.  Casually, he looked down at his feet, and ran the sole of his shoe across the bars of a sewer grate.  Then, carefully and calmly, he unscrewed the top of the cannister and poured its contents down into the gutter. 

Will’s jaw went slack as he was suddenly, devastatingly aware of all his blood running abruptly southward.  He clenched one fist and swallowed, grateful at least that the arousal pooling in his lower belly wasn’t manifesting into an absurdly obvious erection.  He continued to watch Hannibal as he rinsed the cannister out at a nearby waterspout before closing it again, then straightened his back with a satisfied smirk.  Only then did he finally turn to meet Will’s eyes. 

“Shall we go home?”

Will snapped his mouth shut at Hannibal’s question, for a moment wishing desperately he could dive into the deep timbre of the man’s voice as easily as he could a pool, or an ocean.  He gazed over the lines of Hannibal’s form where he stood—proud, relaxed and regal—in this dirty and dusty back alley. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, barely more than a whisper.  “Yeah, let’s go home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I actually wrote an entirely smutless chapter for this series. 
> 
> Don't worry, the next chapter should make up for it: t'll be nothing but crazy kinky sexy-times. I'll update the tags accordingly once it's up and I know exactly how much of what's in my head actually makes it onto the page, lol.
> 
> Additionally: I tend not to go back and do a lot of editing once I've posted something, but in the interests of learning and improving I have a couple aspects I'd appreciate feedback on. Namely, I was a bit worried about this chapter being too talky? Like, there's a lot here that's said that I'm pretty sure the reader likely is already aware of, or at least doesn't need explained to them, but I couldn't help feeling like the characters needed to say it to EACH OTHER. Still, was it really annoying to get through? Or did it feel like it managed to serve some purpose? Or...somewhere in between? Let me know how it went for you!
> 
> Anyway, thank you as usual to everyone reading and leaving feedback, it really does mean the world to me. This chapter was a bit different than what I've been writing in this series, but hopefully still enjoyable. 
> 
> Much love,  
> InfiniteCrisis


	2. Captivare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Take Captive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skip these notes and warnings to remain utterly unspoiled, or to avoid the frantic screaming of the author. 
> 
> First, warnings: undernegotiated kink is pretty standard fare here by now, but take EXTRA note on this one. Also, Will's mind goes to some scary places, and while none of it strictly HAPPENS there's definitely some descriptions and references to death, non-con, and abuse that could be disturbing for some readers. Also, some talk of water-sport stuff, including piss-drinking, which I know is a squick for some people. 
> 
> And now: /BLOOD CURDLING SCREAMING/ THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ONLY TWO CHAPTERS GOD FUCKING DAMMIT WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING AND NO I DON'T HAVE A TITLE FOR THE THIRD CHAPTER YET IDEC RIGHT NOW FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. 
> 
> Ahem. Thank you for you time. Now, please enjoy this latest installment of what was supposed to be pure kinky porn but has ended up having way too much talking in it. 
> 
> Best regards,  
> Crisis

 

The minute the front door closed behind them, Will had Hannibal up against it, devouring his mouth with his own.  He shoved a knee between Hannibal legs and Hannibal groaned, arching into the pressure as his fingers curled into the strands of hair at Will’s neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Will whispered furtively against Hannibal’s mouth, then bit his bottom lip till he felt the man’s cock jerk against his thigh.  “I’m sorry I’ve been so—” 

“There’s no need for apologies,” Hannibal whispered back, light and breathless, pulling Will’s mouth back to his. 

“I didn’t want to be feeling…what I was feeling,” Will persisted between kisses.  “I don’t even know _what_ I was feeling, I just—”

“ _Will_ ,” Hannibal cut in, but failed to complete whatever he’d intended to say, gasping instead as he was distracted by Will’s tongue worrying the skin over the pulse-point of his throat. 

“I loved it,” Will breathed into Hannibal’s neck.  “I—” He grabbed Hannibal’s face with both hands, resting his forehead against his.  He took a breath, then another, and met Hannibal’s eyes.  “I loved every second of it.  I…I need you to know that.” 

Images of blood and the sounds of screaming floated across Will’s mind, and he imagined he could see reflections of his memories in the blacks of Hannibal’s eyes—that he was remembering too.  The moment stretched, and then Hannibal nodded, soft and sure, his palm coming to warm the skin of Will’s cheek as Will almost sagged with relief. 

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Will breathed again, and this time Hannibal shook his head. 

“I told you; there’s no need for any apologies,” he murmured.  “You needed time,” he said, brushing a lock of Will’s hair behind his ear.  “Of all the things I’m willing to give you, that is by far the least.” 

Will shivered, his eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat.  His former frenzy was settling into a low, burning heat.  He slid his hands down, pressing firmly into the lines of Hannibal’s body through his clothes, and then gripped him by the hips with enough force to pin him shuddering to the door behind him. 

“Yeah,” Will said softly, barely even a whisper.  “I guess that’s true.  I wonder…” He leaned in, his lips almost brushing Hannibal’s cheek, close enough for him to feel Will’s hot breath on his skin.  “…Just how much you’d let me _take_.” 

Hannibal didn’t answer.  His eyelids were lowered, lips parted, utterly still but for the rising and falling of his chest.  There was a warm flush to the arch of his cheeks, and Will could feel the man’s hardness throbbing against the leg still shoved ruthlessly between his thighs.  His eyes flickered over Hannibal’s features, a mere moment of indecision before his intent solidified. 

“I’ve been working on something in the basement,” Will said, though of course Hannibal was already well-aware.  Then, tauntingly, Will set his mouth to Hannibal’s ear.  “ _Would you like me to show you?”_  

A shiver ran through Hannibal’s frame, and Will’s mouth curved into a smile. 

“Perhaps,” Hannibal said, throat bobbing as he swallowed.  “We could wash off the dust and stench from our outing first.” 

Will snickered.  “You can still smell the garbage from our ‘friend’s’ final resting place, can’t you?” 

“It does tend to cling in the heat,” Hannibal concurred. 

“Okay,” Will said, still smiling.  He took a step back.  “Fine.  We’ll both shower, in deference to your finicky nose.  _Then_ , we’ll meet downstairs.  Agreed?” 

Hannibal gave a half-nod and a half-smile.  “I appreciate your understanding.” 

Will rolled his eyes as Hannibal slipped past him down the hall. 

“Oh, and Hannibal,” he called after him, turning with his hands in his pockets.  Hannibal paused, glancing backwards over his shoulder.  “Wash quickly.  And I expect you to refrain from anything more…indulgent.”  He flicked his gaze downward meaningfully. 

Hannibal eyebrow quirked.  “Of course.  I wouldn’t dream of indulging without you.” 

Will felt the heat grow behind his eyes, and he gazed at Hannibal’s face and figure with all that feeling and more.  Hannibal bore his scrutiny with an easy grace, and that only fueled the fire flickering under Will’s skin.  He licked his lips, wetting them and letting them cool from the air as he breathed in, then sauntered down the hallway.  He shouldered past Hannibal without pausing or breaking his stride, only acknowledging him with a toss of his head and one pointed glance.    

“Good boy.”

 

 

 

Will scrubbed the dirt and sweat from his skin, closing his eyes to turn his face up into the spray of the shower.  He kept his mind carefully blank, allowing his arousal to fade down to a low glimmer.  He was sure that fire would be stoked back up to a blaze soon enough, and he wanted to keep his head clear while he could. 

He stepped out and dried off, then browsed over his clothes, rejecting the jeans, t-shirt and light weight plaid button-down he’d worn earlier, or anything in the same vein.  He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, but wearing his everyday casuals felt wrong and ill-fitting.  This deserved something…special.  Elevated.  Then again, dressing up in a full suit and tie seemed equally unsuitable, not to mention inconveniently cumbersome.  He shook his head, amused at himself that in all his planning he’d given no thought at all to this aspect until now.  Hannibal, he was sure, wouldn’t have overlooked such an element, had he been in his place.  With some forethought, Will could have bought something specifically to suit the occasion.  An image of himself decked out in some kind of ‘leather-daddy’ ensemble flashed across his mind and he snorted, shaking it away with a roll of his eyes.

He finally settled on simple black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt—a little dressier than usual, but nothing too eye-catching or note-worthy.  Understated.  After all, it wasn’t his clothes he wanted Hannibal to be paying attention to. 

With that, he quickly combed his hair into something manageable, slipped his key into his pocket, and then made his way down to the basement. 

Hannibal was already there, waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs.  For his part, he seemed to have taken pains to dress- _down_ for the occasion—the soft red sweater he wore hung loose, its neck dipping down far enough to bare Hannibal’s throat and reveal that he was wearing nothing underneath.  It was a look designed to make the wearer appear unthreatening and unresistant.  The effect was calculated, but Will didn’t begrudge him that.  Hannibal was trying to convey to him that he knew his role here and accepted it, and Will could happily take the gesture it in the spirit it was intended—provided it proved to be true. 

“You look comfy,” he commented as he reached the bottom of the stairs, letting his gaze linger on the lines of Hannibal’s collarbone and the hollow of his throat. 

Hannibal gave a soft shrug.  “I had no reason to think I’d be wearing anything for very long.  It seemed fruitless to put in too much effort.” 

Will’s lips stretched into a smile as he chuckled at Hannibal’s apparent ease.  He stepped into Hannibal’s space near the door and carefully slid his key into the lock, pausing before turning it to glance at man standing at his shoulder. 

“Seems like sound reasoning,” he quipped, and then opened the door, letting it swing inward before placing the key back in his pocket.  With a flick of his wrist to the inside wall he turned on the lights, and then stood aside, inviting Hannibal to go in with an outstretched hand and quirked brow. 

Hannibal kept his gaze on Will, meeting his eyes for a long moment, before finally turning towards the open doorway and stepping over the threshold.  Will followed after, closing the door behind them.  He watched as Hannibal’s eyes slid over his surroundings, taking it in with his usual aplomb. 

There wasn’t that much to look at really.  Will had bolted cabinets into the walls to house all the ‘trinkets’ he’d obtained, so the room mostly resembled a walk-in closet or a storage room at first glance.  Will had imagined being much more nervous when he finally revealed this room to Hannibal, the fruits of his labors on display to Hannibal’s discerning eye.  Instead, as he looked around the room following the line of Hannibal’s gaze, he felt only a quiet sense of pride. 

He’d stripped the walls and floor down to the bare wood, and then varnished it all till it shone with a warm, golden brown.  Each cabinet was simply designed, but finely crafted and sturdily built out of cherry woods and brass.  Warm light shone from narrow beams that ran in stripes built into the ceiling—utilitarian, elegant, and unobtrusive.  And in the center of the room was a rectangular platform, rising six-inches from the floor and inlaid with mats made of tightly woven tatami.  Will had agonized over that, trying to decide what material to use—plain wood seemed too harsh, rubber or foam too cushioning—but once he’d arrived at his choice he’d had no doubt that it was perfect, and seeing Hannibal standing next to it now he knew he’d been right. 

The platform was designed for versatility, and there were actually several bars and beams that could be attached and connected in different configurations.  Most of those were out of sight now though, leaving only four vertical metal pillars rising from the corners, like the posts of a four-poster bed minus the canopy.  Notches, rings, and hooks ran up the sides in alternating patterns, the only overt hint at the kind of activities this room promised. 

“You can snoop,” Will said after a minute or two passed and Hannibal had still done nothing but stand and look.  Hannibal glanced at him, and Will gestured with his chin towards the nearest shut cabinet.  “Nothing’s locked.  You’re welcome to peek.” 

Hannibal tilted his head.  He seemed to consider a moment, and then tilted his head a bit further—an implied shake of the head without committing to the fullness of the gesture—before righting it.  “I think I’d rather be shown,” he said, fixing Will with a look. 

Will smirked, wandering along the side of one wall of latched cabinets.  “Get a full tour?” 

“A practical one, if possible,” Hannibal agreed.  There was a pause.  “Shall I undress?” 

Will stopped and turned, regarded Hannibal coolly.  “Eager, are we?” he mocked.  Hannibal didn’t dignify that with a response, neither protesting nor agreeing.  “Yes,” Will said after a beat, pointed and amused.  “Go ahead and undress.”  He made his way over to the cabinet closest to the door, unlatching and opening it with a slight flourish.  “You can put your clothes in here.”

Hannibal lifted an appreciative eyebrow at the revelation that one the tall cabinets was, indeed, a wardrobe, complete with hangers and drawers.  He wasted no time, easily stripping off his clothes in graceful motions.  He folded them carefully and set them inside the wardrobe, hanging his trousers over one of the hangers in a way clearly meant to minimize wrinkling.  Shoes went in a slot at the bottom, and then he closed the door and folded the latch neatly.  All his motions were natural and unhurried, with no indication that there was anything unusual about any of this, or any acknowledgement that his nakedness was being observed by Will while he remained fully clothed.  When he was done, he turned and came to stand in the open space in front of the door, hands folded lightly behind his back.  He stood, waiting quietly, his eyes watching Will with deceptively casual interest. 

Without a word, Will went to open a second cabinet. 

“Eyes front,” he said brusquely when Hannibal turned to watch him.  Hannibal gave a little sniff with a hint of a haughty glare, but dutifully turned his head away. 

With what he wanted in hand, Will came up behind Hannibal, approaching with a hint of nervous caution.  The leather felt hot and heavy against his palm, more a reflection of its symbolic weight than any physical properties, and he wondered if Hannibal would feel that as well, or if it would simply be a strip of tanned hide and metal to him. 

He had to stand up straight and perch onto the balls of his feet to reach over Hannibal’s shoulders, but it was simple enough to slide the collar across Hannibal’s throat.  Hannibal’s breath hitched at the first touch against his skin, his chin lifting automatically in response.  Will closed the buckle, tugging it snug, and then hooked a finger on the O-ring at the back of Hannibal’s neck and _pulled_.  Hannibal’s head jerked back and he gasped softly at the pressure on his throat. 

“Turn around,” Will whispered against the back of Hannibal’s ear, then released his hold on the collar and took a step back. 

Hannibal’s shoulders rose and fell once, and then twice, before he began to turn in place to face Will.  When he had, Will sucked in a breath, his fingers curling into his palm as he took in the sight of him.  The collar sat stark and black against his skin, two bands of thick leather connected by two large metal rings—one at the front, one at the back.  In front, where Will was looking now, the ring formed a circle at the base of Hannibal’s throat, like a frame highlighting one of his most vulnerable parts.  The heavy blackness of the leather highlighted the bareness of his skin, and he suddenly seemed more naked now than moments ago when he’d had nothing on at all. 

Will met Hannibal’s eyes and found them dark and inscrutable as he watched Will with softly parted lips.  Will let his gaze wander down, and then smirked to find Hannibal already hard.  His eyes flicked back to Hannibal’s for a moment before he turned away to seek out the next item on his list—the next element of the design he’d been churning and churning in his mind for months.

This was leather too; it matched the collar almost perfectly and Will had been very proud of that.  And here, now, in the moment, it all seemed to come together even better than he’d imagined—Hannibal had a collar for his neck, and now a collar for his cock as well. 

Though ‘collar’ might not be quite the right description, Will reflected as he fitted it over Hannibal’s genitals; it was more like a corset.  Will was all too aware of Hannibal’s gaze peering at him from under hooded eyes as his fingers worked, and he focused on his task, trying to ignore the growing blush heating his face.  When he was done, Hannibal’s cock was fully encased up to the head, wrapped in folded leather held closed by smaller strips laced tight through a series of metal studded holes.  His scrotum hung down through an opening at the bottom, too small to be strictly comfortable, and the whole arrangement promised to keep him both hard and unable to come for the foreseeable future.  Finally, there was a metal ring sewn into the end of leather, falling just under the head of Hannibal’s cock. 

Will retrieved a length of woven leather cord with metal clips on each end, hooking one end to the ring attached to Hannibal’s cock and the other to one at his throat, adjusting the length so Hannibal’s cock was pulled upward, but not too tightly.  Letting out a sigh, Will stepped back to survey his work, nodding with a grunt before lifting his eyes to look Hannibal in the face.  Hannibal’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark, but over-all he remained stubbornly hard to read.

“Anything to say?” Will asked glibly. 

Hannibal started to shake his head, then stopped sharply, eyes closing with a restrained wince as the movement pulled on his genitals. 

“No,” he said tightly, the apples of his cheeks reddening further.  Will bit back a smirk. 

“Okay, then,“ he said.  “In that case, I want you to climb up on that little stage I made for you, and get on your hands and knees.” 

Hannibal took a slow breath, but refrained from nodding this time.  With surprising poise he managed to turn, walk forward, lower his knees to the edge of the platform, and then crawl into the center.  Will clicked his tongue in approval, looking over the picture Hannibal made on all fours.  “Such a good boy,” he murmured, more to himself than to Hannibal, though Hannibal still gave low shudder at the words.

Walking a circle around the center platform, Will picked up two wrist cuffs on his way before crouching down in front of Hannibal.  Wordlessly he took Hannibal’s right hand and closed one leather cuff around the wrist, then pulled his arm taut as he locked it into place against right corner post.  He repeated the action on the left, watching Hannibal watch him with cautious eyes.  He finished attaching the left cuff to the post with a click—and something shuttered behind Hannibal’s eyes.  Will frowned.  It was hard to pinpoint what the look was—nothing in Hannibal’s expression had really changed—but there was a sudden disquieting distance that left Will feeling oddly and unsettlingly alone. 

“Where did you go?” Will asked curiously, a crease between his brows.   

Hannibal blinked, his eyes refocusing at Will’s quietly murmured question.  “Apologies,” he said quickly.  “My mind wandered for a moment.” 

Will arched a brow at that, not at all missing that Hannibal had deliberately sidestepped his query.  “I know.” Will said, a little sharply.  “I want to know where it wandered _to._ ”

Hannibal hesitated—and Will was suddenly keenly aware that he was contemplating lying to him.  Will’s eyes hardened and, seeing that, Hannibal sighed. 

“I was,” Hannibal began, his reluctance evident in the haltingness of his normally smooth speech.  “Reminded, briefly, of another time when I was bound and collared.” 

Will’s eyes narrowed, that explanation raising more questions than it answered.  Bound was one thing, but _collared?_   Who—

“When was that,” Will prompted, already responding ahead of his conscious thought. 

Another hesitation, this one starkly clear as Hannibal’s eyes bored into him, the muscles of his jaw working under his skin.  It was abundantly obvious that Hannibal didn’t want to tell him this, for reasons Will was restraining himself from speculating about, and equally obvious to both of them that Will would know in an instant if he was lying.  Will could let it go, ignore what he’d seen and move on, but he wouldn’t and they both knew that too.  Hannibal _couldn’t_ win this and he had to know it, which just made his reluctance all the more baffling.

Finally, Hannibal broke their eye contact, shifting his gaze away with a restrained sigh for returning to meet Will’s eyes again, the expression on his face wary, resigned, and just a little bit irritated. 

“At Muskrat Farm.” 

Will blinked, almost not hearing him at first, and then he felt something in his chest crack and crumble.  He closed his eyes, ruthlessly shoving down the lump that formed in his throat. 

They’d been separated at Muskrat Farm—Will kept at the main house, Hannibal taken…somewhere.  No one had told him where Hannibal was or what was being done to him, not that he’d asked.  He’d been battered and drugged and pissed as hell at just about everything, so he hadn’t given it a lot of thought.  Somehow, he couldn’t help feeling like he should have known anyway, even though rationally he knew that didn’t quite make sense.  Still…he’d seen the brand, he should have guessed, should have _known_ —

Opening his eyes, he shook his head to clear it, and looked at Hannibal—bent forward on his knees with his arms stretched out and restrained.  Collared.  Like livestock. 

Quickly, Will reached out to undo the cuffs holding Hannibal’s wrists. 

“What are you doing?” Hannibal demanded. 

“I’m letting you out,” Will said shortly. 

“Why?”

Will froze, stopped by the sharpness in Hannibal’s tone, and then let out a long, _long_ sigh.  Because Hannibal was fighting him on this, because _of course_ Hannibal was fighting him on this, God damn him. 

“I think the answer to that is obvious,” Will said quietly. 

“I don’t,” Hannibal retorted.  “Explain it to me.” 

Will let out another frustrated sigh.  “Are we really going to have this conversation with you on your knees tied to two metal posts?”

“Apparently,” Hannibal replied.  “Because if you release me now, I assure you I will not be speaking to you at all for quite some time.” 

“Oh, great,” Will snorted.  “Because what this situation really needed to improve it was _pettiness_.” 

Hannibal’s jaw clenched, and Will sighed again, dropping his hand from the cuff at Hannibal’s wrist and running it through his hair.  “You really need me to explain to you why this is a bad idea?” 

A breath puffed out of Hannibal’s nose.  “You’re making the assumption that I’m traumatized,” Hannibal said, glaring.  “And I resent the implication that I can’t make such an assessment for myself.” 

Will was quiet a moment.  “Okay,” he said, conceding that.  “So, give me your assessment.” 

Hannibal shot him a withering look, and Will snorted.  “Right.  You’re claiming there was no trauma from your experiences at Muskrat Farm,” Will went on.  “Because you're above that sort of thing.  Despite the fact that your current… _position_ ,” Will said, almost managing not to flinch.  “Triggered memories of it.” 

“There are certain similarities to both situations,” Hannibal explained with impatience.  “I was making an observation, not having a flashback.  A lack of _amnesia_ is not a symptom of post-traumatic stress.”

Will bit his tongue, fighting down the urge to call a halt to this whole thing right now just because Hannibal’s tone was pissing him off.  Instead, he forced himself to take a breath, and come at this differently. 

“We can do something else,” Will said softly, and Hannibal blinked at his newly placating tone.  “The night doesn’t have to be over.  I wasn’t calling it all off.”  He saw Hannibal swallow, and Will knew he’d hit on what Hannibal had been worried about.  “There’s plenty of things we can do,” Will assured him with a half-smile.  “It doesn’t have to be _this_.”

Hannibal actually seemed to take that in, remaining silent with a thoughtful frown on his face. 

“We can stop, Hannibal,” Will continued, needing to push this point home.  “And stopping doesn’t have to mean _stopping_.”

Another moment passed, and finally Hannibal let out a low breath.  “I…understand,” he said, managing to sound _almost_ contrite.  “But I would rather we continued as we are.” 

Will frowned.  “Why _?_ ”  Hannibal huffed, glancing away.  “No, Hannibal, I need an explanation.  Why are you so determined to push forward with this?” 

Hannibal managed a kind of shrug.  “There’s no reason to stop.” 

“That’s not good enough,” Will said promptly.  “Try again.” 

Hannibal shifted his shoulders again, and then looked at Will, letting some heat grow behind his eyes.  “You clearly had specific plans in mind for tonight.”  He quirked his brow.  “I would _very_ much like to know what they are.” 

Will quirked an eyebrow back.  “I could just _tell_ you what I had planned.” 

Hannibal huffed.  “That would hardly be the same,” he protested glumly. 

Will’s lip curved into a smile, because petulant really could be a cute look on Hannibal at times.  “What else,” Will pressed.    

Because there _was_ something else driving this stubbornness, Will was sure of it now.  Hannibal could be stubborn, but he was usually happy enough to quit when he didn’t have anything to lose in doing so. 

“Hannibal,” Will prompted softly.  After a long moment Hannibal acquiesced, resistance silently melting behind his eyes. 

“There are,” Hannibal said slowly.  “Certain individuals I would rather not name within these walls, whose best qualities I could attribute to them being that they are now very, very dead.”  Will raised a brow at that elegantly vindictive description.  “I would find it…disquieting,” Hannibal continued, his voice growing softer.  “If despite their current state, such individuals were still able to affect the course of our evening.” His tone grew harder.  “I would rather they remained in their proper place—powerless, and putrefying.” 

Will took that in.  “All right,” he conceded, nodding.  “I see your point.  Though I’m still not sure that curiosity and _spite_ are good enough reasons to risk--”

“ _T_ _here is no risk_ ,” Hannibal ground out through clenched teeth, his annoyance flaring up again immediately, and Will found a laugh bursting out of him, if only in response to the purity of his frustration.  Instead of taking offense, Hannibal’s ire broke and he smiled along with him.  “If anything,” Hannibal put forth, a smirk clearly signaling his change of tactic.  “It could be quite beneficial to replace certain unpleasant connotations with more…desirable ones.”

Will felt his brows go up at that particular bit of logical maneuvering.  “I don’t think I have to tell you,” Will said with a sardonic lilt.  “That you're proposing an _extremely_ unorthodox form of therapy, Doctor Lecter.” 

Hannibal mouth twitched.  “Is this therapy?” He responded dryly.  “I mistook it for something else.”

Will rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Hannibal’s nerve.  “You’re _really_ set on this, aren’t you,” Will said.  “You know you don’t have to prove anything.  I’m not going to be disappointed if there’s a change of plans.” 

“But I would be,” Hannibal said darkly.  There was a pause.  “Would you like me to beg?” 

Will froze, his eyes landing on Hannibal’s carefully blank face.  Hannibal had said it so naturally, so unassumingly, that for a moment Will wondered if he’d misheard. 

“I would,” Hannibal said, in answer to Will’s wide eyes, his voice low and smooth and even.  “If you wanted me to.  I would beg for whatever torments you had imagined for me.  I would beg you to hold me captive, and to not release me until you had taken _everything_ you wanted from me.”  He paused then, fixing Will with a cool, glittering look.  “Would you like me to?”

Arousal started to pool in Will’s belly again, twisting and churning with his lingering doubts and traces of guilt.  He could push away one, or the other, and for a moment both possibilities spiraled out in his mind.  But that was fanciful, because the truth was, his choice had already made. 

Reaching out, he grabbed hold of Hannibal’s collar and tugged forward, leaning in to bring Hannibal now gasping face inches from his own. 

“ _Not.  Yet._ ” 

With that, Will released his hold on the collar and stood up.

“Fine.  You win.”  He looked over the expanse of Hannibal’s bare skin, soaking in the vulnerability of his prone position.  “Though, you may regret this,” he warned mockingly. 

Hannibal’s answering expression conveyed exactly how likely he considered _that_.  It was an explicit challenge, and Will sent him a look of his own that made sure Hannibal knew he’d taken it as one.  Hannibal just grinned. 

“First,” Will mused aloud.  “I wasn’t quite done trussing you up.” 

He sought out the restraints he’d need and then walked around the platform behind Hannibal.  With the collar bound to his cock, Hannibal couldn’t even look over his shoulder without discomfort, and Will smirked as he wrapped another band of thick leather, this time around his thigh.  That was attached with another long cord to the post at the back corner.  The same was done on the other side, and when he was finished, both of Hannibal’s thighs were pulled back and out, spreading his legs and making it impossible for him to lay flat.  Pulled at four corners and held taut by the wrists and thighs, he was now trapped on his knees in a kind of half table-top position, unable to either slide forward, or back onto his heels. 

“Comfortable?” Will asked with a smirk. 

“Not the word I’d use,” Hannibal replied, breathless.  “I presume that was the point?”

“You presume correctly,” Will drawled.  He dropped his voice.  “And things are going to get _much_ worse for you, Hannibal.  Much, _much_ worse.” 

Hannibal sniffed, lip showing the slightest hint of a snarl, while his hips tugged just a bit against the bonds at his thighs in an instinctive gesture of clear arousal. 

“You know, Jack and I used to talk about you like you were a fish,” Will commented idly, opening one the cabinets.  “How to lure you, how to hook you, how to reel you in, that sort of thing.  So, when I came across this,” he said, pulling out what he’d been looking for.  “I just couldn’t resist.” 

He turned around, holding up the item for Hannibal to see.  It was a large metal hook, but instead of a sharp point its end was blunted by a hefty round ball—which didn’t really make it look any less intimidating, in Will’s opinion.  Hannibal was glaring at him from the dark pits of his eyes, a look that anyone else might have been wise to find menacing.  Will just stared back blandly until Hannibal dropped his gaze. 

With a thorough coating of lubricant the hook was ready to be applied, and Will knelt between Hannibal’s spread thighs to place the balled tip to his hole, and pushed inside.  Hannibal hadn’t been stretched at all, but the hook still slid in quickly enough with a little pressure.  The slick metal sank into the flesh like it was being sucked in once the outer rim was breached, and Will watched it disappear inside with rapt attention.  It likely didn’t feel nearly as easy going on Hannibal’s end, he imagined, even if the man had let out little more than a grunt upon being penetrated. 

When the hook was fully inserted, with the curve of it resting in the valley of Hannibal’s cleft and the top end laying against his lower back, Will got up to fetch another leather cord to match the one attached to Hannibal’s cock.  The open end of the hook was shaped into an open loop, and Will used the cord to attach that and the O-ring at the back of Hannibal’s collar.  Will shortened the cord till Hannibal was forced to keep his head up, his cock now pulled taut against his belly, and with that, the circuit was complete. 

Standing, Will surveyed Hannibal in his new predicament.  Moving his head or neck at all now meant pulling on either his genitals, anus, or both, with no positioning at all that meant relief in both directions.  It was startling, how seeing Hannibal minutely shift and flinch within his bonds sent a spike of arousal straight to Will’s cock.  Biting his lip, Will pushed down on the urgency in his groin, fist clenching as he fought the urge to grope himself through his pants.  He’d see to that soon enough. 

Once again crouching down in front of Hannibal, he shoved his thumb between Hannibal’s panting lips, hooking the digit into Hannibal’s cheek with a sharp yank.  Hannibal winced as the movement tugged at his collar and the straps attached to it, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again to send a blazing stare Will’s way.  Will just pulled at his cheek again, harder this time, and was rewarded with a muffled whimper. 

“Tell me, Hannibal” Will practically purred.  “Do you feel _hooked?_ ” 

On the last word, he again dug his thumb into Hannibal’s inner cheek, stretching the corner of his mouth till it was wide and gaping.  Hannibal’s eyes had closed again, but he flicked them up just long enough to make clear what he thought of Will’s question.  He couldn’t attempt to answer any other way with Will’s thumb in his mouth—not without any inelegant mumbling anyway.  A beat passed, and then, slowly, Will felt the hot wetness of Hannibal’s tongue reach over and caress the line of his thumb, sliding across the blunt digit in some defiant show of lasciviousness, or perhaps simply an act of seduction.  Sighing, but with a fond smile, Will slid his thumb to the center of Hannibal’s mouth, letting him suck fully for just a moment before pulling it out with a small _pop_.  Hannibal’s tongue darted out from between his lips, following Will’s thumb as it pulled away, before curving back to stroke over his upper lip. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Will complained with good humor, wiping his thumb on his pants.  Hannibal met his gaze, smirking sultrily with his eyes. 

“And what’s to be done about that?” Hannibal teased, utterly uncowed. 

“Oh, if I wanted someone _corrigible_ , I would have left ages ago,” Will mused dryly.  _I’d have run back to Molly the first chance I got._   Shaking that thought from his head, he stood up.  “But as for what I plan to _do_ …do you remember when I mentioned getting a ball-gag?  You seemed amicable to that idea at the time.”

Hannibal followed Will with his eyes as Will went back to the cabinets again.  “I take it you’ve acquired one?” Hannibal deduced, eyes merry. 

“I did,” Will tossed off-handedly over his shoulder.  “And I’m sure we’ll get around to using it eventually, but first—” He trailed off, eyes lighting on what he’d been after.  “—I think found something you’ll like even better.  How would you like to be _gagged_ ,” he said, snatching up the bits of black leather and rubber.  “And still get to have my cock in your mouth?”  He crouched again in front of Hannibal, now with an open-mouthed gag hanging off the end of his index finger.

Hannibal’s expression had gone carefully blank, but Will could see the frenzied, almost frightened hunger in his eyes.  He stared at the device Will offered like it might bite him, and yet his lips were already parting, unconsciously inviting the thing to be shoved inside. 

“I asked you a question, Hannibal,” Will pressed, and Hannibal’s eyes fixed on his like dark lasers.  There was a long silence.

“…Yes,” Hannibal finally said, sounding choked.  “I would…I would like that.” 

Will smiled approvingly.  “Good boy.  Now, open up.” 

Another brief pause, and then Hannibal opened his mouth wide.  Leaning in, Will fitted the rubber bit over his teeth, noting how Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered as his jaw was stretched, and then fastened the buckle behind his head. 

Mouth open and eyes closed, Hannibal appeared to concentrating on breathing, each inhale and exhale carefully controlled.  Not that he could do much else at this point, Will reflected, completely restrained as he was.  He couldn’t speak, couldn’t bite…couldn’t even close his mouth, or move his head away without pulling on his own balls.  Through the hole of the gag, Will could see Hannibal’s tongue twitching, undulating uselessly in the gaping cavern of his mouth. 

Almost curiously, Will lifted two fingers and slid them into Hannibal’s open mouth, gliding over the wet surface of his tongue.  There was a stutter in Hannibal breath, and then a low, muffled whine as Will stroked the exposed muscle, pushing his fingers further and further back into Hannibal’s throat.  At a certain point, he felt Hannibal’s gag reflex kick in, his tongue and throat constricting against the invasion. 

He pulled his fingers out and took hold of Hannibal’s chin.  Considering a moment, he tilted his head and sealed his open mouth over Hannibal’s, pausing only a briefly before sticking his tongue in as deep as it would go.  It was less of a kiss and more of an invasion, and Will felt oddly alien in doing it.  Hannibal’s tongue welcomed him as best it could, but there was still something undeniably violating about it, especially when he began plunging in and out, fucking Hannibal’s unresisting mouth with his tongue simply because he could.  Because Hannibal couldn’t stop him, and that felt _good_.   

Will’s cock was demanding attention again, and reluctantly Will withdrew, his tongue sliding out of Hannibal’s maw amidst strands of saliva and drool.  Gasping lightly, Will wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and rose to his feet.  Without a word he undid his pants, pulling out his straining cock with a muted groan.  He was vaguely aware of Hannibal eyeing his erection, but really his consideration of Hannibal had become rather distant.  Grabbing the buckle at the back of Hannibal’s head like a handle, Will laid the tip of his cock against the opened passageway formed by the gag, and then shoved inside. 

The second he was enveloped in the hot wetness within, Will let out a low moan, savoring the feeling for a moment before drawing out and fucking back in with a snap of his hips.  Quickly, he found himself revving up speed, ferociously thrusting faster and faster, forcing himself down Hannibal’s throat to go deeper and deeper, mindlessly chasing friction and heat. 

His orgasm caught him by surprise, his hips stuttering as he spurted cum down Hannibal’s undulating throat.  He gasped, half doubling over, pulling Hannibal closer as he came inside him.  His cock was still shoved in deep when it began to soften, with Hannibal’s nose pressed up against the hairs at his groin.  He felt Hannibal inhale deeply through his nostrils, and Will groaned as he imagined him taking in his scent.  Gulping, Will looked down at the man bound and gagged on his knees before him.  He felt a sudden cold shudder rock his frame—the extent of Hannibal’s helplessness, of his utter, devastating vulnerability, hit him all at once in this moment.  And this time it wasn’t thrilling, or arousing: it was _terrifying_. 

Because Hannibal had watched him massacre a man just the other night—on the other side of the door of this very room in fact—and yet he hadn’t hesitated to place himself completely at Will’s mercy.  Will knew, logically, that this was hardly the first time—that from Hannibal’s perspective not much had really changed—but it _felt_ different. 

 _I’m alone in a dark basement with a serial killer_. 

Will had had that thought months ago, and for the first time he let himself complete the other side of it. 

 _And so is Hannibal._  

Hannibal was trapped, alone, in a basement, with _him_.  A murderer.  A man fully capable of killing a man in cold blood.  Which Hannibal _knew_ , more than anyone. 

 _Do you fantasize about killing me?_  

Will sucked in a breath through his teeth, hazy spots blotting his vision like spattered blood.    

“How can you do this?” he rasped.  Hannibal eyes flicked up at his words, gazing up at him widely from above his stuffed and gagged mouth.  Will dove into those eyes, reaching down into them with his own like he could find some kind of answer there. 

“I could do anything to you right now,” Will whispered, wondrous and horrified.  “How could you let that happen?”  Will swallowed, licking his lips.  “I could…”  He shook his head, all too aware of the warmth of Hannibal’s mouth around his unhardened cock.  “I could piss down your throat,” he said harshly, digging his fingers into the back of Hannibal’s skull.  “And all you could do is swallow, or _choke_ on it.” 

Hannibal’s eyes stared up at him, unmoving.  There was nothing resistant in his expression, his posture—nothing troubled the smooth calm of Hannibal’s gaze but for the slightest tremble beneath the surface.  Will’s brow furrowed, and tightened his grip on the back of the gag.

“I could snap your neck,” Will heard himself say as he tugged Hannibal’s head back, the words seeming to come from far away.  His other hand came to stroke under Hannibal’s chin.  “Or crush your throat.  You’d die here, and my _cock_ ,” he said, pushing forward with his hips for emphases.  “Would be last thing you’d ever taste.” 

Instead of showing any kind of fear, Hannibal simply closed his eyes, and Will felt the curve of his tongue caress the underside of his cock, licking it languidly—like he was _savoring_ it.  Will shuddered, fresh arousal causing his cock to twitch in Hannibal’s mouth. 

“Or I could leave you here,” Will whispered, half-desperately.  “Lock the door behind me and let you waste away.  That would be…a slow death.”  An agonizing one.  Will wondered if he’d be able to see that kind of murder through—he could envision himself snapping Hannibal’s neck much more easily.  But to go on day after day, knowing Hannibal was bound here in the basement, dying bit by bloody bit…that he only needed to unlock the door again…

Maybe that was why Montresor had sealed Fortunado in with stones—to leave no door left to open.

“Maybe I’d visit,” Will thought aloud, knowing he sounded deranged.  “Once in a while.  Just to use your mouth.  I wonder how long you’d last, living on nothing but my piss and cum.” 

An image of Hannibal—hanging from his bonds, but now emaciated and filthy—flashed through his mind, and Will physically flinched, finally pulling his cock from Hannibal’s mouth.  With shaking hands he put himself away, dropped to his knees and yanked open the buckle at the back of Hannibal’s head.  He pulled the gag from Hannibal's mouth with gentle brusqueness and let it fall to the floor. 

Hannibal gasped as his mouth was freed, working his jaw as drool dripped from his lips.  Will retrieved a clean cloth and wiped the saliva away, noting a hint of dampness clinging to Hannibal’s lashes as well.  Wiping that away too, he then cupped Hannibal’s face in his hands, stroking the plains of Hannibal’s cheeks with his thumbs. 

“How can you do this,” he asked again, his voice breaking. 

Hannibal met his eyes, and if Will thought there might be something there—resentment, anger, fear, revulsion—he was disappointed, because there was only a warm clarity behind his eyes.

“You know how.” 

Will frowned at the answer.  He knew what it meant.

 _I couldn’t do this_ , Will thought bitterly.  _I couldn’t do this, does that mean I don’t—_

He cut himself off.  Instead of thinking, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s ravaged mouth, dipping his tongue coaxingly into its warmth.  Hannibal leaned into his touch, and that alone was enough to help calm the frantic beating in his chest.

“How are you holding up,” Will asked when he broke the kiss, not moving far from Hannibal’s face. 

“Mmm,” Hannibal hummed, brushing his nose against Will’s.  “Quite well, considering.” 

Will chuckled, desperately and absurdly grateful for the soothing, even sound of Hannibal's voice.  “Not finding things too _challenging_ , then?” Will drawled. 

“No,” Hannibal assured.  “In fact, I’m finding these particular challenges enjoyably…stimulating.”        

Will smiled. 

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said, leaning in to whisper against Hannibal’s cheek, and brushing a finger along the line of the collar under his chin.  “‘Cause we are _just_ getting started.”

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not going to post any links, but if you're interested in seeing the sort of thing Hannibal was, um, "wearing" this chapter, feel free to look up "lace-up cock splints" and "anal hooks", mmkay? Kay. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you as always for reading, as usual please let me know if there's any warnings or tags I missed! Once again, this story as gotten WAY outta control for me, and I just can't bear to post chapters that are WILDLY different in word count, so when ch2 is already longer than ch1 and is nowhere near done...I guess it becomes a 3 chapter fic. Sigh. Anyway, I hope this bit tides people over until I can wrangle part 3 into shape. Comments are always loved and appreciated, it really helps kick my ass into gear, lol. This chapter did start to sound a bit repetitive to me, so if anyone has any advice on how to scale down the tedium a bit the next time I write a similar scene, that'd be much appreciated as well! 
> 
> Again, I know I say it a lot but I really do mean it, THANK YOU, all of you, so much for reading. I can't believe this crazy series actually has people who like it, lol, and i really do love you guys. 
> 
> Best wishes everyone,  
> Crisis


	3. Subcumbere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Submit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter are relatively sparse, considering its length. Will has a pretty graphic imagining at one point, with some violent imagery with sexual connotations, so that might be something to be wary of. Aside from that, it's pretty chill actually.
> 
> Now, you might be looking at the title of this chapter and think, "'Submit'? What the hell has been happening so far?" Well, hang on to your dang diddly doo hats my friends, cause shit's about to go DEEP y'all. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is super long, and I'm sorry about that, hope it doesn't bug anyone too much. There were just a lot of beats to hit in this one, so yeah. 
> 
> As usual, please comment and kudos if you like, and let me know if there's any tags or warnings I missed. This one was a monster to write, but think it got where it needed to go, lol. And thank you everyone who's read this ridiculous series with me so far, I love you guys so much I really do. 
> 
> From the bottom of my heart,  
> Crisis

Hannibal’s lip curved.    

“And here I thought you had just ‘finished,’” he quipped with a glance at Will’s crotch, licking his lips. 

Will smiled.  “Hardly.  Now that I’ve taken the edge off, I can give you the attention you deserve,” he said, brushing a rough thumb across Hannibal’s mouth before slipping it inside to pull down on his bottom teeth.  Hannibal gave it a soft bite, his eyes smoldering. 

“And what _attentions_ might I have to look forward to?” he pried, voice low and husky.  Will noted a soft rocking of his hips with a low chuckle. 

“Nothing that’s going to get you off any time soon,” he said blandly, with a mocking pat to his cheek.  “So, you might as well put that out of your mind.”

With that, Will stood, smirking a bit at Hannibal’s pouting glare.  He walked off, feeling Hannibal’s eyes follow him as he went to go open another cabinet. 

“And in answer to your question,” he continued, wrapping his hand around a heavy wooden handle.  “First…I’m going to paddle your bottom.”

He smiled to himself, enjoying the way his tongue and lips formed the word ‘paddle’, then turned back around.  He found Hannibal watching him—amused, one brow raised in an unimpressed arch.  Will pointed at him with the paddle. 

“You shouldn’t be scornful of the classics,” he scolded with a smirk.  

Hannibal didn’t reply, but gave a little shrug with his eyes, conceding to at least the principle of the point. 

“Now,” Will said, placing the flat of the paddle under Hannibal’s chin.  “After I use this on you, I’m going to want you to tell me what it felt like.  So, make sure you pay attention.  Understood?” 

Hannibal’s eyelids were lowered, his lips parted softly with his chin slightly tilted up by the paddle.  “Not be cheeky,” he said, in a tone that conveyed quite the opposite.  “But with your ample imagination, I’m sure you can…” He flicked his eyes up.  “… _deduce_ that for yourself.” 

Will didn’t answer at first.  Then, he pushed the paddle up further, forcing Hannibal’s head up and back so his collar pulled tight on the cord attached to his cock.  Hannibal let out a sharp, barely audible _ah_ at the strain, his mouth falling open further as his breathing grew labored. 

“…I want to hear it from you,” Will stated, clear and calm.  “I want you to describe it with as much detail and specificity as your ample vocabulary can manage.  I want to know how it feels for _you_.  Have I made myself clear?” 

Hannibal swallowed thickly.  “Yes,” he whispered, sounding choked.

Will held him there for another beat before dropping.  Hannibal’s head fell forward with relief, and then quickly jerked back up with a wince as the motion yanked on the hook in his ass. 

“Good.”  Will said brusquely.  “Let’s get started.” 

Hannibal’s ass presented a tempting target, Will couldn’t help but note—the black leather pulling at his thighs and holding him in place created a kind of border bracketing his lower cheeks, while a glint of metal curved elegantly from his center cleft like a stylized exclamation point.  Will paused for a moment, just admiring.  There was a fluttering in his stomach—those quintessential butterflies—not apprehensive, but betraying a certain nervousness, and Will adjusted his grip on the handle of the paddle.  This wasn’t an impulsive slap of his hand in the heat of the moment; even his more ‘thorough’ spankings had been unplanned, a reflection of playful lust.  This…would be different.

He was going to hurt Hannibal.  Not just a little, not just to leave him a little sore and aching in the morning, but a lot, repeatedly and deliberately.  He was going to like it—immensely, if his already stiffening cock was any indication—and so was Hannibal.  He hoped.  If he didn’t, he’d tolerate it for Will’s sake, and Will was admittedly concerned that Hannibal might suffer through it just to please him.  He was even more concerned that he might let him.  He’d tried to stop earlier, but he’d been persuaded easily enough by Hannibal’s assurances; would it be the same if Hannibal clearly wasn’t enjoying himself?  Would he placate Will with reasoned arguments that happened to be _exactly_ what Will wanted to hear?  And would that be so bad, he felt a little voice whisper, deep inside.  After all, it wasn’t like Hannibal wasn’t willing…

Will shook his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts.  The paddle felt heavy, loaded, like it was weighted with the potential damage it could cause. 

Taking a breath, Will set the broad flat side of the paddle against Hannibal’s bare ass.  Hannibal shifted slightly at the touch—not a flinch, more like a greeting, caressing the surface of the wood with huanches.  The paddle was wide, rectangular with rounded edges, and easily spanned across both butt-cheeks.  Made from pale, honey-colored bamboo, it looked almost friendly against the milky tones of Hannibal’s skin. 

Eying his mark carefully, Will raised his arm in a tall arc and brought it back down with as much force as he could muster.  The loudness of the _CRACK_ that echoed through the room caught him by surprise, and he barely managed not to stumble backwards.  Hannibal’s body slammed forward at the impact, the leather bonds pulled tight against his thighs the only thing keeping him upright on his knees.  The muscles in his backside clenched, quivering unevenly as a dusky rose blushed across the skin.  Will watched, hypnotized, his mouth hanging open in a wet pant. 

He raised his arm again and let fly, slamming the broad wood into Hannibal’s backside with low-burning glee.  He silently counted out the blows, leaving enough space between each for them both to breath.  He kept an even rhythm, the sound of wood impacting flesh becoming comforting in its uniformity rather than startling, and watched the steadily darkening tint staining Hannibal’s flesh with heady satisfaction.  After ten, he stepped back, taking in the rise and fall of Hannibal’s back and shoulders. 

“Well?” 

There was a long pause. 

“I won’t bother stating the obvious,” Hannibal finally began, an evident breathiness hindering his normal cadence.  “Aside from the pain, the impact itself impresses a certain force I hadn’t anticipated.” 

Will grunted thoughtfully.  “And what’s the effect of that?” 

There was a shaky sigh from Hannibal.  “…Unbalancing,” he replied after a moment.  “Yet, grounding.  There is reassurance in its solidity, even as my own is disrupted.” 

Will nodded, logging that away.  “Arousing?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said with only a slight hitch.  “Though perhaps somewhat subdued in that respect.  Steady, but understated, like…a low simmer rather than a boil,” he added after a moment’s thought.

Will nodded again, letting out a soft _hm_.  Then, wordless, he took up a firm stance behind Hannibal, lifted the paddle, laid out five hard swings in quick succession.  Hannibal let out a choked sound, the first hit taking him by surprise, and then could only hang loosely in his bonds as he was pummeled.  His buttocks reflexively clenched tight in a futile effort to escape the blows, growing redder and redder as each one landed.  As the assault ended and the grueling cracks fell silent, the only sound left in the room was Hannibal’s low gasping. 

“Anything you’d like to add, or amend to your description?” Will asked, forcing a tone of casual indifference.

For a while there was only Hannibal’s continued harsh breathing in answer, but then Will began to hear the quiet clicks and starts of attempted speech.

“Th…there is a quality of crescendo in the act of repetition,” Hannibal finally managed, audibly strained.  “Each subsequent strike building on those that came before, creating an exponential effect.” 

“Is that in reference to the pain produced?” Will inquired, idly rubbing the warmed wood against his left palm as he walked around to Hannibal front side.  “Or the arousal?”       

“Both,” Hannibal answered, his eyes closing briefly, swallowing thickly behind his collar. 

“…Thank you,” Will said after regarding him a long minute, with exaggerated courtesy.  “That was very informative.” 

Hannibal let out a shuddering breath, glaring wearily from under his brows. 

“Now,” Will went on, turning away to put the paddle back in its place.  “I want you to point out any differences you might feel—” Will said, pulling out his next implement.  He turned on his heel and holding it out in front of him for Hannibal to see. “—when I use this one.”  He shot Hannibal a look, smirking.  “Comparatively speaking.” 

Hannibal glanced from the object in Will’s hands, then back up at Will with a sigh.  Will’s smile widened, and he lifted the stiff strap leather up with a bit of pride. 

“This was labeled as a ‘strop’,” Will continued, as he walked forward.  “And it’s about the same size as the paddle, but a bit more flexible.”  He demonstrated a bit of the leather’s bendability with a smug grin.  “So, I’m curious how it’ll measure up.”  He fixed Hannibal with an exaggerated look.  “You’ll be sure to let me know, won’t you?”

Hannibal refrained from rolling his eyes, but the sentiment was conveyed in his expression nonetheless.  “If you’re quite done congratulating yourself, perhaps we could get on with things.” 

Will’s face broke into a wide smile, baring his teeth.  “That eager to get your ass beat, huh?  You know, you might not want to piss me off, Hannibal.”  He lifted the strop pointedly.  “You don’t know how many ‘toys’ like this I’m planning to try out on you tonight.”  

Hannibal went silent.  He closed his mouth with a light snap, jaw clenching, and then met Will’s eyes with a much meeker expression.  “Apologies.  Please forgive my insolence.” 

“You’re forgiven,” Will said breezily.  “For all the good that will do you.  Your ass is getting beat red either way.”

Hannibal’s dark eyes glinted a moment, hot and brittle and needy.  Will chuckled. 

“You _are_ eager, aren’t you?” he muttered, taking a rough hold of Hannibal’s chin.   

“Yes,” Hannibal answered readily, eyelids lowering submissively. 

Will tilted his head, eyeing Hannibal through narrowed eyes.  “You think you can handle anything I throw at you, don’t you,” he mused aloud.  “Whatever happens, you know I won’t be able to break you.” 

“On the contrary,” Hannibal denied, calm and plain.  “I’m quite certain you will.” 

Will felt himself go still, frowning.  Hannibal seemed to sense his reaction, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.  Slowly, he lifted his eyes. 

“Surely that’s apparent by now,” he said, very softly.  “Even to you.” 

Will let out a small puff of air.  “It must be tiring,” he said, stroking Hannibal’s jaw.  “Having to teach the same lesson over and over.”

“I don’t find it tiresome,” Hannibal said, warm and sincere.  Will was silent a moment.  

“If you really think I can break you,” he said, finally giving his thoughts voice.  “Then why are you here?  Because you don’t think I will, or…”  His brow furrowed.  “Or because you _want_ me to?” 

Hannibal’s lips curved subtly, his eyes proud and smiling.  “Both.” 

Will blinked and stepped back, dropping his hand to his side; his heart was hammering in his chest. 

Without another word, he rounded his way back behind Hannibal, and _slammed_ the strop down across his backside.  Hannibal let out a sharp cry—soft, but still audible—as hard leather hit skin, and Will lifted an eyebrow at that before raising his arm again.  The second blow got no such reaction, and Will went on, laying out eight more brutal wallops onto Hannibal’s buttocks.  Except that first one Hannibal bore them all stoically, making not a sound.  The only signs of his distress were an occasional twitching in his fingers and toes, and the undeniable stiffness in the line of his shoulders. 

After the tenth blow landed, Will tilted his head, admiring the way the mounds of Hannibal’s rear had shifted from pink toward a deep crimson.  It really was incredible how what amounted to a blotchy rash could be so fetching.  Will thought back that first night—that _very_ first night, the one Hannibal had only been half- conscious for—when he’d dared to give Hannibal’s bottom a few untidy slaps, enough to give them a noticeably rosy tint.  He remembered thinking of it as _red_ then, which seemed almost cute looking back, with the vibrant hues now soaking into Hannibal’s skin like wine staining a tablecloth. 

“So,” Will said, drawing out of his reverie.  “How did that compare to the paddle.” 

There was a beat. 

“More intense,” Hannibal answered evenly. 

“Really?” Will commented, a little surprised, considering the lack of distress in Hannibal’s voice. 

Hannibal gave a small nod, and then winced as the movement tugged on his bonds.  “It lacks the solidity of the paddle, and in that way the pain less deep, relegated to the surface of the skin, but it feels much harsher, much more—”  Hannibal broke off then, sucking in a breath.  When he continued, his words came much more slowly.  “…More punishing.  It…burns.”  He sucked in another breath.  “And I feel… _raw_.” 

Will took a moment to digest that.  “And your arousal?” he asked. 

At that, Hannibal drew in third hissing breath, this one ending in a low whine, his fists clenching as his body undulated despite its confinement. 

“ _That burns too_.”   

Will raised a brow at that.  It seemed Hannibal had been exuding a great deal of control that was now quickly dissolving under closer examination.  He waited to see if Hannibal would add anything else, but the only sounds were an occasional desperate mewl as he twisted against his bindings. 

Taking a steadying breath, Will raised the strop again, bringing down five more blows, one after the other, just like before.  The leather snapped cruelly against Hannibal’s scarlet backside, and Hannibal stiffened, jerking sharply at the sting.  He didn’t cry out, but Will saw that he’d grabbed hold of the rings that latched his wrists to their posts, gripping tightly with whited knuckles. 

“Anything else?” Will asked when he’d finished.  Stiffly, Hannibal shook his head. 

“Okay,” Will went on.  He set the strop aside.  “Just one more for tonight,” he reassured softly. 

His last torment was a long rattan cane with a leather handle.  Walking over, he laid the tip against the side of Hannibal’s face, noting the damp sweat along his hairline.  His eyes were closed, and they didn’t open at the touch of the prodding wood at his cheek.  Instead, he sighed softly—perhaps in resignation—and nodded.  The movement made it look like he was nuzzling the instrument of his coming torture, a sight that sent sharp wings beating through Will’s stomach. 

“I’m going to expect a report, just like the other two,” Will warned.  “Think you can manage it?” 

Hannibal swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing.  “I…yes,” he whispered, hoarse.  “Yes, I…I can manage it.” 

“You sure about that?” Will asked skeptically, noting the skips in his speech. 

Hannibal’s eyes flew open then, a snarl threatening to form behind his upper lip.  “I’ll do what’s asked of me,” Hannibal bit out, glaring.    

Will held his gaze for a moment, and then nodded.  “All right, then.”  

He pulled the cane from the side of Hannibal face and turned away—though not before catching Hannibal give a shudder as his eyes fluttered shut again, the heat of his ferocity gone as quickly as it had appeared.  Will didn’t doubt the strength of his determination, but he also knew that it was a hiding a fragility that could crack at any moment.  Thinking on that, Will tapped the cane against Hannibal’s already reddened backside, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

 _‘Because you think I won’t?’_   The words ricocheted echoingly inside his skull.  ‘ _Or because you want me to?’_

_‘Both.’_

Squaring his shoulders, Will set the line of the cane to Hannibal’s upper right cheek, rubbing against it once before pulling his arm back and up. 

_SNAP!_

The cane hissed like a snake as it came down, cracking hard against Hannibal’s flesh and leaving a deep, angry welt in it’s wake.  A second line appeared a breath later, parallel to first along the left cheek.  Then he moved down, placing the third an inch below the first and the fourth below the second.  Back and forth he went, covering Hannibal’s buttocks in wine-colored horizontal stripes—a deeper dimension to the shades of pink and scarlet already covering them. 

Will had laid the sixth stroke and was lining of the seventh when he heard it: a low keening, rough and half-muffled.  It sounded like a wounded animal—a sound Will knew well—and he paused.  He looked at Hannibal’s ravaged skin, with all the delicate beauty suddenly sucked out, and for a moment he could see only the ugliness of injury, and pain.  That moment passed, dissolving like mist, but the memory of it still soured Will’s stomach, even with his cock still stiff and hard in his pants. 

“Tell me what it feels like,” Will abruptly heard himself say, his tongue thick.  “Hannibal,” he said more sharply when there was no answer, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.  “ _Talk_.” 

Another beat went by as Will’s chest tightened uncomfortably…and then he heard the sound of Hannibal’s voice—strained and ragged, but still whole. 

“It…cuts,” Hannibal said, and then released a soft wordless cry.  “ _Like a knife_.” 

Will nodded, and drew back the cane. 

**_SNAP!_ **

“What else,” Will demanded, lining up the eighth stroke. 

Hannibal mewled, piteous and needy.  “It also…aches.  But, deep.  Inside.  It cuts sharply, but then it also bruises.  It feels black, under the skin.” 

Will smiled at that, the screws in his chest loosening.  “Well, it looks red,” he said glibly, and Hannibal moaned, his back arching for just a moment. 

Will gazed appreciatively at Hannibal writhing, and then sent down the next line with an extra vicious twist of his arm. 

There was a scream. 

Will had never heard Hannibal scream before.  Certainly not like that.    

It was short, and truncated, but still bloody, and the sound of it went straight to Will’s cock. 

“And are you aroused by this, Hannibal,” Will pressed, gruff and gravelly, rubbing himself through the front of his pants.  He slid the cane along the crease where the curve of Hannibal’s ass met his thigh.  “Does this get you _hard_.”

He said it spitefully, his rage and disgust with himself bleeding into the words.  He tore his hand from his groin, hating how hard he was from making Hannibal scream out in pain.  Hating that he wanted to do it again.      

Brutishly, he snapped the cane along the crease along the top of Hannibal left thigh, leaving a ninth deep, red mark etched into the skin; then set the line of the cane to rest at the matching crease on the left.  “Hannibal,” he sneered, digging in with the side of the cane. “I asked you a question.”

He landed the tenth stroke without waiting for an answer, slashing down with biting force.  Then he took hold of the cane in both hands, and waited.    

Hannibal was shaking—trembling, almost delicately, the muscles in his thighs and shoulders quivering with strain.    

“I…” He began hesitantly.  “I’m not sure that’s the most precise description.” 

“Then what would be a more precise description,” Will prodded brusquely.

“It…is arousing,” Hannibal admitted after a pause.  “But it is more…” He seemed struggle for moment.  “… _Penetrating_.”

Will bit down on his tongue.  “Meaning?”                                                                                                                                               

Hannibal grumbled then—a low, frustrated growl climbing out of his throat.  “ _Meaning_ ,” he ground out—and Will could see him fighting for every word, every thought, his body twisting against his shackles as his control frayed.  His voice was guttural, and desperate gasps fell down between phrases.  “Th…the paddle…and the strop, th…they made me want to come.  _This_ …” He ended in a hiss.  “This makes me want to be _fucked_.”

Both Will’s brows rose at that.  He was trying to remember another time Hannibal had used the word _fuck_ without being prompted—without parroting back what Will had said to him—and was coming up blank.  And he was certain he’d never heard Hannibal sound so _wrecked_ as he said it. 

His lower stomach clenched, and his lips parted, letting his tongue lick lasciviously between them, his former resentments and shame quickly sinking beneath the crashing waves Hannibal’s naked, helpless want.       

“So, what you’re saying is,” Will said slowly, sliding the cane up Hannibal’s inner thigh.  “That you felt the paddle and the strop _here_ —” At that, he pointedly rubbed the cane across the underside of Hannibal’s cock, smirking as Hannibal whimpered.  “—But with the cane, you also feel it _here_.” 

He drew the cane out from between Hannibal’s legs, and pressed the point of it to the outer rim of his puckered hole, just under where the hook jutted out.  In answer, Hannibal’s whimpering devolved into a full blown whine. 

 _“Yes_ ,” Hannibal moaned, almost wailing as he pulled pathetically against the cuffs at his wrists trying to push his ass back into the cane prodding him.  Will let him struggle, enjoying his powerless humiliation far more than he probably should. 

“Hmm,” Will hummed, absently stroking the cane along Hannibal’s cleft.  “…I wonder how it would feel if I hit you here.” 

Will rapped the cane against Hannibal’s hole for emphases.  There was only a shuddering breath in response. 

Will did give the idea more than a _moment’s_ thought, at least. 

“…Five more,” he said, quiet and clear, and set the cane between Hannibal’s cheeks.  “Then I’ll put it away.” 

There was no answer.  Will paused a beat—maybe waiting for Hannibal to protest?—and then brought the cane down with a hard _snap_.  It hit right across Hannibal’s pucker, and the muscle clenched tight, hugging around the smooth metal of the hook.  Hannibal’s whole body was held taut, his fists clenched tight around the metal rings he was tied to. 

Will hit him again.  This time, Hannibal’s hips attempted to snap forward, the clear thrusting motion showing the root cause wasn’t just pain.  Will wasn’t using as much strength as before, but on the third stroke he could see the dusky skin around Hannibal’s hole darkening into a bruise.  The fourth pulled a hiccupping wail from Hannibal’s throat and another stuttering jerk of his hips. 

On the fifth, Hannibal screamed for the second time that night, the sound longer and more ragged than the first—a clear expression of frustrated arousal as much as blinding pain.    

“And where did you feel that,” Will asked, when the scream had faded. 

Hannibal choked back what might have been a sob. 

“ _Everywhere_.” 

Will’s eyes fluttered closed, a fresh stab of arousal shooting through his groin with particular force.  This hadn’t been in his plan, but suddenly his need was so great he could think of nothing else.  Tossing the cane away to clatter against the floor, he came around to the front side of the platform and grabbed Hannibal by the hair. 

“Open,” he demanded, gruff and uncaring, already pulling at his fly, and then rammed his cock down Hannibal’s throat the instant his lips parted, hissing as he got a scrape of teeth along the way.  Hannibal quickly pulled them behind his lips, and then Will was thrusting, plunging deeper and harder as Hannibal made muffled noises that might have been moans, and could have been screams, around his pulsing cock.  He came in less than a minute, spurting furiously as he continued to pump between Hannibal’s swollen lips. 

When he was spent, he pulled out, saliva and cum clinging from his cock.  He went to find a towel—he’d had that much forethought at least—and wiped off his softening cock before tucking himself back into his trousers and zipping the fly. 

Hannibal looked dazed—hair mussed, eyes unfocussed—his lips parted wetly as fluids dripped from them.  Will wiped his mouth with the towel and Hannibal blinked at the touch, appearing to come back to himself a bit.  Will crouched down to get a better look at him.  Lifting a hand, Will placed a palm to Hannibal’s cheek, watching as Hannibal leaned into the touch. 

“I think…” Will began, then cut off, licking his lips.  “I think I’m ready to hear you beg.” 

Hannibal shivvered against his palm.  He gave a thick swallow, eyes lowered under the hoods of his lids. 

“…What would you like me to beg for?” he asked in a rasping voice. 

Will’s eyes narrowed and, hardly thinking, he moved a hand to hook under Hannibal’s collar, pulling up till Hannibal was forced to meet his gaze with a sharp gasp. 

“I want you to beg for what you want, Hannibal,” Will told him, his voice hard.  “For what you _need_ , more than anything else in the world, at this exact moment.  I’m not interested in hearing you _pretend_ to beg,” he warned, yanking again on the collar.  “If I hear you say ‘ _please’,_ you better _mean_ it.”  He leaned into Hannibal’s panting face.  “So.  You tell me, Hannibal: what are you prepared to _really_ beg for?” 

Hannibal’s lips trembled.  He wetted them with his tongue, then pressed them together in a firm line. 

“Please.”

The word came out barely more than a whisper, popping from Hannibal’s lips like it had been ripped out.  His lips parted then, shaking with shallow gasps.  His tongue hovered behind his bottom lip, and there was a stricken look on his face. “Please touch me.” 

“Might want to specify,” Will said callously, and Hannibal sucked in a breath, eyes wrenching tight. 

“ _Please_ ,” he said again, almost sobbing.  “ _Let me come_ ; put your hand on me and make me come, please, just let me, let me—” He broke off, and two trails of tears flowed down his cheeks as he shook against the posts he was shackled to. 

Watching Hannibal fall apart so completely was distantly unnerving, and intimately enthralling.  Will found himself unable to look away.  He’d made this, Will realized with some wonder.  Every shuddering breath, every trembling muscle, every tear and drop of sweat—he’d _made_ this. 

And it was _beautiful_. 

In that moment, as Will looked, enraptured, into lines of Hannibal’s weeping face, it wasn’t the urge to comfort, or give succor, that boiled hot in his belly. 

“What if I said no,” Will asked curiously, his tone hushed.  Hannibal gave only a whimpering sob, shaking helplessly at Will’s words.  “What I told you that I wouldn’t let you.  Not tonight, not at all.  That after putting you through all this, I’d leave you desperate and aching and completely…” He pressed his lips to Hannibal’s cheek.  “ _Untouched_.” 

Hannibal choked back another sob.  Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, Will dropped his voice low into his chest. 

“What if I _prefer_ your pain to your pleasure?” Will asked, and this time his lips twisted into a sour grimace, because _God_ — _what if he did?_   “What would you do then?”    

Releasing his hold on Hannibal’s collar, Will sat back on his heels.  He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he could feel the tick pulling at his cheek, the crease forming between his brows.

Hannibal, on the other hand, seemed to have calmed.  He was breathing deeply, each inhale settling some of the shakes in his body.  His eyes were open, but downcast—fixed on some invisible point—and a strange expression had come over his face.  He blinked, and Will could see something being written behind his eyes, though he couldn’t see enough to read it. 

“Would you…” Hannibal licked his lips.  “ _Enjoy_ that?”  His words were hesitant, but his tone was surprisingly untroubled.  He looked over Will’s face, eyes searching.  “It would bring you pleasure to deny me?”

Will’s jaw clenched, hard enough to make his teeth ache.  “Yes.” 

A light struck in the darks of Hannibal’s eyes, and then he lowered them, his lashes sticking to the dampness of his cheeks. 

“Then…” he said slowly, like he was discovering each word as he said it.  “I would bear that anguish.  No,” he corrected, brow furrowing.  “I would… _savor_ it.”  He sucked in a breath, lips parting in a kind of wonder.  “I would treasure any torment, relish any agony, as long as it…”  He smiled then, softly, and tilted his face out towards Will like an offering.  “ _Pleased_ you.  Amused you.  _Aroused_ you.  _Will_ ,” he breathed, like a benediction.  “I take…such pleasure…in your pleasure…that all else fades.  All else fades and becomes…”  He paused, reaching out with parted lips and lowered eyes as though begging for a kiss.  “… _Meaningless_.” 

Will didn’t move.  He felt frozen, caught in the beams of Hannibal’s devastating admission.  He'd torn and clawed open Hannibal’s defenses, only to find _himself_ stripped bare by Hannibal’s nakedness.  Hannibal was still reaching for him—pleading for a kiss, a caress, for anything at all—but Will couldn’t bring himself to close the distance, terrified to touch Hannibal’s warm flesh with his own.  Terrified of making this moment _real_. 

Half-blind, Will groped at the cuffs binding Hannibal’s wrists, yanking them open.  He tried to ignore the brush of skin against his fingers, snatching back his hands as swiftly as he could.  Hannibal’s arms fell—first one, then the other—and he caught himself as he pitched forward onto he hands.  Will stood, backing away with uncertain steps before turning his back to Hannibal with a rotating snap.  Moving as though under some other power, Will opened one of the cabinets on the wall.  He wasn’t sure what he was looking for until he saw it, laid out carefully against the wooden bottom of a drawer.  He gathered up the bundle of leather with furtive fingers, no clear idea in his mind, only knowing he needed…something. 

Turning back around, he found Hannibal right where he’d left him.  With his hands now released, Hannibal could have unbound himself.  Will could see the image in his mind: Hannibal reaching to pull the collar from his neck, stripping out of his other bonds with a disdainful sneer.  But he hadn’t.  He’d stayed on his knees, staring down at the knuckles of his freed hands with an expression that turned Will’s stomach.  It reminded him too much of when he’d told Hannibal goodbye from the warmth of his bed.  Of when Hannibal had walked out his door without saying a word.  If anything, his face now was even more devastating, with none of Hannibal’s quiet, protective dignity—just uncovered hurt and humiliation, scrubbed raw and exposed. 

Will swallowed, regretful and ashamed.  He turned his face away, needing to escape the look in Hannibal’s eyes and hating himself for that weakness.  He walked around Hannibal without looking at him, not lifting his eyes till the man’s face was safely out of sight.  He sucked in a breath though, unprepared for the renewed image of Hannibal’s mauled and ruined backside.  The leather binding his thighs, forcing them to spread wide and display the vulnerable parts between them, now seemed callously lewd and offensive set below Hannibal’s ravaged flesh. 

Will’s cock still twitched at the sight though, and that might have been what repelled him the most—how much he still _wanted,_ even now.  His eyes slid up the plains of Hannibal’s back, the pale, twisted scar at the center another stark reminder that he was hardly the first monster to delight in hurting Hannibal.  In _humbling_ him.    

Hannibal had never truly been humbled by any of them though, despite their cruelties.  He’d never wept for them, or screamed for them, Will was sure.  He’d certainly never begged, or let them see him quiver and shake with need. 

 _He never **wanted** it_ , a devilish voice whispered in Will’s ear.  _He **wants** it from you.  _

_And what do I want from him?_ Will wondered with some trepidation, though the answer to that was obvious. 

**_Everything_.  **

Will dropped his knees onto the platform, crawling into the space between Hannibal’s legs.  Reaching out a shaking hand, he set his palm over the raised flesh of the brand, letting out a slow breath.  Hannibal stiffened at the touch, but made no other sound or movement.  The design of the scar was bifurcated by the black line of leather running down Hannibal’s back, and Will slipped his hand underneath so to only feel skin under his hand.  Hannibal’s back rose and fell with his breathing, and Will timed his own breaths with Hannibal’s, allowing their evenness to soothe him. 

After a minute or so, he moved his hand to Hannibal’s shoulder and pulled him up.  Hannibal dutifully rose, back straight, resting back on his heels as best he could with his knees still splayed.  Quietly, Will took Hannibal by the arms, pulling them behind him.  He wrapped one hand around both of Hannibal’s wrists, holding them tight at the small of his back.  He squeezed them in a kind of apology, and miraculously Hannibal seemed to take it as such.  The stiff lines of his shoulders eased at the pressure, a soft sigh whispering out of him.  Will held his wrists even more tightly, squeezing them with all his might. 

 _I’m not letting you go,_ he tried to say.  _I wasn’t letting you go._

Hannibal let out a short, quiet _ah_ , tilting back into Will behind him, and Will let out a sigh of relief.  With one last squeeze, Will released Hannibal wrists, pleased beyond measure when Hannibal kept them placed together behind his back without even being told.  Bringing forward the broad swath of leather from his other hand, and he slid it gently under Hannibal’s arms. 

He began simply by lacing the thing closed, wrapping the sides loosely around the width of Hannibal’s arms.  When that was done and Hannibal’s arms were enclosed in supple leather from his wrists up to his armpits, Will set about tightening it.  He went slowly, carefully, cinching Hannibal in one inch at a time.  It took a while, but Will found himself not at all impatient; it felt good, to do something with his hands, to fall into the ritual of repeated motion.  Gradually, Hannibal’s shoulders were pulled back more and more, his upper arms brought closer and closer together.  Below his fully encased wrists, Hannibal’s hands sat parallel to each other, fingers curled in loose fists at the small of his back.  The black cord running down the length of his spine sat pinned between the flat of the leather sleeve and Hannibal’s bare back, and as a last touch Will adjusted it to fall more cleanly between Hannibal’s pinched shoulder-blades. 

At last, he sat back with a sigh, surveying his completed work with a satisfied nod.  Pushing backwards off the platform, he walked around it, finally ready to _face_ Hannibal again.  He still hesitated a moment before lifting his eyes, but once he did he couldn’t bear to tear them away again, his breath stolen away in an instant. 

Pitched slightly forward on his too-widely stretched knees, his arms were fully pinned behind his back in a way that pushed out his chest.  His brutal nakedness was decorated by dark leather at his neck and groin and in the stripe down his torso, and—more than all that—his eyes were set passively downwards, the line of his mouth soft and un-resistant. 

Hannibal was a picture of quiet submission—complete, and perfect.  His cock—pulled taut by leather and metal—looked swollen and pained where it lay stretched up along Hannibal’s lower belly, the skin and hairs there smeared with fluids from its leaking tip.  But there was no shifting in Hannibal’s hips, no other outward show of his obvious need…nothing but quiet breathing, and a serene stillness in his muted posture. 

Will was getting hard again, but that seemed less important than just soaking in the image in front of him.  Not looking away, he stepped out of his shoes, pulled by some thread of indescribable necessity in his chest.  Using the beams at the front corners for balance, Will smoothly stepped up onto the dais, feeling the firm tatami impress under his weight.  Hannibal raised his head then, lifting his chin to look up at Will from dark, liquid eyes.  Will felt loomingly tall as he returned Hannibal’s gaze, staring down at the man bound and beaten at his feet. 

He reached out—and as he did, he thought of Hannibal looking up at him in his office, a bloodied lip marring the perfect curve of his mouth; he thought of Hannibal hanging impassively from a straight-jacket, strands of hair falling in his face; he thought of holding out a hand in his mind to reach for a bloody heart, feeling the sticky rawness under his fingers. 

He laid his palm to Hannibal’s cheek.  Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered for a moment at the touch, eyes opening wide again to gaze up at Will with undisguised devotion.  Will’s tongue felt thick and Hannibal’s cheek seemed to burn his palm, but he didn’t look away, pulled into the depths of Hannibal’s eyes like a ship to Charybdis. 

_CRACK_

The sound echoed and Will felt a sting bloom across his palm.  Hannibal’s face was turned aside, a pinkish blush spreading over the curve of his cheek.  A breath passed, and Hannibal turned his face back, looking up at Will with, if anything, even greater veneration.  Will rubbed his fingers along his palm, clenched them in into a fist, then stretched them out again. 

_CRACK_

Hannibal head snapped, the pink in his cheek growing deeper with a second strike.  Will saw him wince as the movement jerked on the cords at his collar, a subtle twitch below his eye.  He started to turn his face back once more and Will slapped him again, even harder.  This time, Hannibal’s whole body jerked to one side, his balance broken.  Without thinking Will brought his other hand to Hannibal’s shoulder, steadying him. 

They both froze.  Hesitantly, Will squeezed the muscle under his hand, as though waiting for it to dissolve under his touch.  When it didn’t, he lifted his free hand to cup the cheek he’d just abused, breath hitching when Hannibal closed his eyes and nuzzled into the palm that had struck him. 

Legs shaking, Will fell to his knees.  Slowly he brought his lips to Hannibal’s, gradually leaning into them.  Hannibal’s lips parted as he pressed against him, and Will let out a mournful whimper, pushing onto Hannibal’s mouth with renewed vigor. 

Hannibal let him control the kiss, responding to Will’s motions but never pressing beyond that.  His mouth remained soft and pliant even as Will grew more frenzied, nipping and sucking at Hannibal’s lips like he could somehow engrave what he was feeling onto them. 

As he deepened the kiss and slipped his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth, Will slid his hand down from Hannibal’s face to his neck, tracing the line of the collar with the pad of his thumb.  He felt at the warmed metal of the ring at Hannibal’s throat and found the clip hooked there, shuddering as he worried it between his fingers.  Pinching the leather cord with two fingers, he followed the line of it down Hannibal’s chest, down his stomach, all the way to the ring suspended from Hannibal’s cock.  He fondled it, dipping to brush his thumb across the exposed hole at the tip of Hannibal’s aching head.  Hannibal shivered then, but still held himself passive against Will’s questing hands, not asking, or even inviting, but merely consenting to whatever Will chose to do with him.  With defined purpose then, Will took hold of the clip restraining Hannibal’s cock, and unhooked it. 

Hannibal let out a sound, like a gasp or a grunt, his head falling back away from Will’s mouth in a moment of pure relief.  Will smiled, hardly begrudging him that indulgence.  He lifted his left hand to support the back of Hannibal’s head, helping him tilt it back—the first time since the beginning of the night he could do so without tugging painfully on his cock.  As he worked open the laces binding Hannibal’s erection with his right hand his left curled into the soft strands of Hannibal’s hair, tightening into a firm fist.  Hannibal’s lips trembled as he worked, eyes closed as he let his head rest against Will’s hand.  When his cock was finally freed, the sweat stained leather dropped heedlessly to one side, Hannibal let out a soft, piteous mewl, his hips rocking gently forward, at last unable to restrain his body’s impulse. 

“ _Shhhshhh,”_ Will murmured, soothing and chastising at once, and Hannibal stilled.  “Good boy,” he praised in the same low murmured tone. 

The leather cord now hung loosely down Hannibal’s chest, and Will set his hand to the clip at his throat with the intention of discarding it as well.  When his fingers landed on it however, he paused.  He slid his hand down, eyeing how it fell from Hannibal’s collar like a leash.  After a moment’s thought, he deftly slid the clip at the loose end of the leather into a notch in the braid, forming a loop, and slipped it around his right wrist.  Then he spat into his hand, and wrapped it around Hannibal’s cock.

It jerked against his palm as his fingers closed around it, and Hannibal’s breath hitch as he tightened his grip, making certain Hannibal wouldn’t pop at the first stroke.  He kept a tight hold on Hannibal’s hair as well, keeping him firmly in place.  Then, slowly, he dragged his right hand steadily down Hannibal’s length.  Hannibal whimpered from the back of his throat, and Will repeated the motion.  He set up a solid, unchanging rhythm as he worked Hannibal’s cock with squeezing fingers.  The leather cord around his wrist was attached to Hannibal’s collar, which in turn was still fastened to the hook in Hannibal’s ass, meaning each downward stroke resulted in an answering tug to Hannibal’s sphincter, and Will could see the doubled assault was tearing at the threads of Hannibal’s control.  Soon Hannibal was whimpering and gasping almost constantly, a glassy despair reflecting in his eyes. 

As Hannibal’s body quivered under his hands, his face a mask of distressed need, Will lowered his mouth to the line of his throat, sliding his tongue along the skin to taste the salt of his sweat.  Hannibal keened then, low and building, a wretched, sobbing sound.  Stirred by sounds of his hopelessness, Will finally revved up the speed of his stroking, giving Hannibal the friction his body so desperately craved. 

Almost at once there was a strangled cry, and then Hannibal was coming, cum spurting from his cock in pulsing waves as Will continued to work him.  Will wasn’t sure if Hannibal fell forward then, or if he was the one who brought Hannibal to rest against his shoulder, but either way Will held him tightly as tremors wracked his frame. 

Hannibal’s orgasm seemed to go on and on, fluids dribbling from his cock even when he appeared to be too exhausted to shake and tremble properly anymore.  At long last, Hannibal gave a deep, guttural groan and buried his teeth in the flesh of Will’s shoulder, one last spasm rattling disjointedly through his frame.  Will bore the bite silently, closing his eyes as the sharp pain washed over him.  Hannibal was only biting him through his shirt, so he hadn’t managed to draw blood, but Will was sure he’d have a hell of a bruise in the morning. 

He let Hannibal lay against him for a while—his body lax and limp; his open mouth pressed loosely into the fabric of Will’s shirt.  Hannibal’s cock continued to twitch in Will’s palm, like a caught fish gasping on the dock.  Cum had splattered across Will’s sleeve and the leg of his trousers as well as his hand, but that was a distant concern to him at present.  After a few breaths, Will let Hannibal’s cock fall from his palm, stretching his spunk coated fingers while Hannibal went on gasping wetly against his shoulder. 

A cool calm had washed through him as he’d held Hannibal through his orgasm, and now Will pulled Hannibal’s head back brusquely by the hair to clamp his cum-stained palm over the man’s mouth with easy surety.  Hannibal immediately opened his mouth, lapping eagerly at the viscous fluid as Will pressed his hand hard against his face; he wasn’t impeding his breathing, but he applied the same force and determined indifference it would take to smother someone, ruthlessly smearing Hannibal with his own cum.  The phrase _rubbing his nose in it_ crossed Will’s mind as he watched Hannibal struggle to get as much of it _inside_ his mouth as he could, gulping messily as cum and saliva dripped down his chin. 

Will yanked his hand away, leaving Hannibal a filthy, blotchy mess.  His palm now glistened with Hannibal’s spit, along bits of cum that still clung in places.  Will looked at it, and felt a shudder run through him.  Arousal, but also something else—something colder, and cleaner perhaps. 

Slipping the loop of cord from his wrist, Will took hold of it in his other hand.  He then rose off his knees and stepped off the dais.  As his bare feet hit the floor another shiver ran through him, and he looked back at Hannibal.  Hannibal swayed unsteadily on his knees, pale and sweat-glistened.  A low-burning hunger grew behind Will’s eyes.  Wrapping the end of the cord around his fist Will pulled downward, forcing Hannibal’s head down to the mat.  Hannibal obediently bent at the waist, lowering himself shakily till his head came to rest against the straw-colored tatami.  He turned his face to lay his cheek to the surface, mouth still open and panting, his eyes oddly unfocussed. 

Will had built a number of fold-up mooring cleats into the outer wood of the platform, spaced here and there along the sides, and he flipped one up now at the center of the front edge of the dais.  The wide metal T-shape resembled a handle as it locked in, and Will wound the leather around it till the cord was pulled taut, but not tight; just enough to hold Hannibal in place with his head downwards. 

The position still didn’t look particularly comfortable.  Hannibal was rested on his left cheek and knees, trapped between being held forward by the collar and pulled back by the straps at his thighs.  His arms remained bound tight behind his back with no way assist in supporting him, and the position forced his ass to thrust high into the air above his obscenely spread legs.  Yet, somehow, he managed to look almost relaxed.  Well, perhaps not relaxed, Will amended, noting the heaviness of his breathing.  But…peaceful.  Serene.

Will felt calm, sure, but he wouldn’t at all describe it as _serene_.  He flexed his right hand; Hannibal’s spit and cum were beginning to dry.  He knew he should grab a towel and wipe it off, but he didn’t.  Instead, he kept running his eyes over the plains of Hannibal’s body, cataloging the way each muscle and joint sloped or bent or stretched.  He walked around the platform, eyeing Hannibal from all the differing angles as he went, at last coming to stand behind him once more.

Hannibal’s ass was still a ravaged wreck, but Will wasn’t struck by the horror anymore.  He couldn’t give any voice or name, to what he was feeling—he only knew that it _filled_ him, till he thought he might burst and spill it out, insides gushing red like the juices of some overripe fruit.  He flexed his hand again.   

Almost as though he were watching from a distance, Will stepped forward and brought his stained, still-slightly-wet palm down on the curve of Hannibal’s right buttock, leaving a stinging _slap_ to the already damaged skin and muscle.  He drew a sharp breath, his hand smarting from the force of the impact, his eyes blowing wide and wild. 

Hannibal didn’t make a sound. 

Heart thumping, chest aching, Will lifted his arm and hit him again.  And again.  And again.  He didn’t count, or keep any order or rhythm.  There was no conscious thought in his mind at all—only a deep, resounding demand he had no words for. 

Over and over Will brought his hand down, his gaze sliding over the minute movements of Hannibal’s reddened flesh as it was struck.  Then, like a seedling reaching for sunlight, Hannibal arched into him.  It was subtle, but as Will could see his spine bending into sharper curve, tilting the rounded cheeks of his ass even higher.  His thighs also slid a bit wider, presenting his hindquarters as if he were in heat. 

_SMACK!_

The last blow seemed to ring louder than the others.  Will took a step back, his arm falling to his side, shaking.  His fingers were tingling, throbbing, and his face was wet.  Breast heaving, Will reached for a towel.  He rubbed it firmly over his hand, pulling it along the skin like he could take the soreness away with it.  Then he used it to wipe the tears drying on his cheeks, sniffing as he dragged the bristly terry-cloth from his face.  He set his back against the door of a cabinet on wall and sucked in a hiccupping breath.  He stared down at his hands and twisted the cloth between his fingers. 

“How did that _feel_ ,” he asked, his voice sounding mocking and sad in his ears.  He lifted his head to look over at Hannibal.  “I know I said the cane would be the last but—” He broke off.  He took a breath, and when he spoke again his voice was softer.  “Tell me…tell me what this felt like.  I want to hear it.” 

There was a long silence, long enough that Will was starting to wonder if he’d answer at all.  Then, finally, he heard the beginnings of Hannibal’s first quiet, whispered word.

“…Intimate.” 

Will blinked, stepping forward to better hear the soft, mumbled syllables.  His right hand pulled into a fist around the cloth of the towel, falling to his side.

“…Exposing,” Hannibal continued.  ”I…felt my nakedness, my…vulnerability…more keenly, than before.”  A low breath blew out of him.  “I felt stripped.  Laid bare.  Marked, and…” Here he gave another shuddering breath.  “ _Humbled_.”

That last word rumbled with a hushed reverence, simple and unafraid.  It had none of the sneer or antipathy Hannibal had expressed towards the concept in other moments.    

 _True humility,_ Will had thought, remembering, _would be a much taller order.  A much more **revealing** test._   And yet here Hannibal wore it as naturally and unresentfully as the corded sweater he’d been in earlier.     

Will’s tongue pushed against the back of his teeth, jaw clicking, taking in each half-breathed word with a crease between his brows.  When Hannibal fell silent, he glanced at the wounded hills of his ass, still pushed high into the air. 

“You were…arching into me,” Will said slowly.  He reached out a careful finger and ran it down the curve of one warm, roughened cheek.  Hannibal hissed at the touch, but didn’t pull away.  “Like you wanted it.”

Hannibal gave a little nod, cheek rubbing against the matted tatami. “I…yes,” he said, breathless.  “It…seemed right.  To offer myself to you.” 

“‘Offer’ yourself,” Will murmured, turning the words over in his mouth.  He looked over Hannibal’s exposed inner ring, impaled by the wicked curve of the hook.  His lip curled.  “To be spanked?  Or to be _fucked_?” 

There was a beat, and then Hannibal let out a smooth, contented sigh.  “Whatever you like.” 

Will tilted his head, eyes tracking as he ran that over in his mind.  Hannibal’s tone had been almost blissful, indistinct and dreamy. 

“Whatever I like,” Will repeated, slowly.  He let the words sink into him, consonants clicked against his tongue.  He mulled that over a moment, and then, abruptly, he grabbed a fistful of Hannibal’s ass, kneading the abused flesh between his fingers.  “ _Whatever_ I like _,_ ” he said again, smiling at the sound of Hannibal’s frantic gasping. 

He climbed on his knees between Hannibal’s legs, a smirking half-smile playing at his lips.  He dropped the towel haphazardly on the mat, and pulled open Hannibal’s cheeks with both hands.  Gazing over his now fully uncovered crack, Will brushed a thumb lightly across his bruised pucker, admiring how the muscle had been stretched and distended by unforgiving steel.  He licked his lips once, and then pressed his mouth to the center of Hannibal’s aching hole.  Hannibal jerked instinctively as Will’s mouth first grazed the delicate skin at his core, but his bindings wouldn’t have let him pull away even if he’d really been trying.  Will flicked out his tongue, enjoying the contrasting textures of Hannibal’s soft flesh and the hard metallic arch of the hook, and then set about utterly devouring Hannibal’s ass. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d tried this—Hannibal had seemed to enjoy doing it to him so much that Will had found himself curious, Hannibal certainly hadn’t minded indulging his curiosity.  He’d been encouraging--enthusiastic, even--but Will had never quite taken to it, finding it a bit awkward: it always felt like his nose was in the way, or he didn’t know what to do with his lips, or like he was giving Hannibal a rash with his beard.  Hannibal insisted he enjoyed it anyway— _especially_ the beard—but Will still couldn’t help but be embarrassed about it. 

Now though…now he simply dove in, exploring and giving in to whatever whims happened to possess him, and freed from his errant insecurities he was finding the act of putting his mouth to Hannibal’s ass _incredibly_ arousing.  He moaned, lips latching to the rim of Hannibal’s hole, and reached down to adjust himself.  He allowed a few gentle squeezes through his trousers before forcing himself to take his hand away, because he sure as hell didn’t want to come in his pants when Hannibal’s ass was waiting _right here._  

“I’m going to fuck you,” he growled into Hannibal’s crack, and then laughed at himself—apparently he’d now taken to addressing Hannibal’s asshole _directly_.  Stretching Hannibal's cleft even wider, Will set his teeth Hannibal’s inner cheek and gave a playful nip before pulling away.  He sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth, and looked down over the slope of Hannibal’s back.  “I’m going to fuck you,” he repeated, louder.  “And,” he added, glancing down at Hannibal’s cock beginning to swell between his legs.  “I’m not going to let you come again.” 

He paused, wondering when he’d made that decision.  Wondering also why the thought of that got him so damn hard.  This wasn’t him testing Hannibal, pushing him to breaking in order to prove a point.  This wasn’t about Hannibal at all, not really.  This was Will denying him purely because he _felt_ like it—because it got him hard to think of fucking Hannibal when he didn’t have any hope of release and all he could do was _take_ it. 

“Allowing you one orgasm tonight was already more than generous, don’t you think?” Will said with cocky flippancy. 

The question had been rhetorical and more than a little sarcastic; he certainly hadn’t been expecting a reply.  Even if he had, he never would have anticipated the softly breathed, entirely unironic _“Yes_ ” that tumbled freely from Hannibal’s mouth. 

Will paused, caught off guard.  The word seemed to sit in the room, like a physical thing.  For some reason, Will thought back to an old fairy-tale, only half remembered—something about rose petals and diamonds falling from someone’s mouth as they spoke—and momentarily Will could almost _see_ that ‘yes’, lying on the mat beside Hannibal’s parted lips like something glittering. 

Will’s jaw clenched for a second as he swallowed, filled with the heady thrill one might have when sinking their fingers into the fur of a lion’s mane—exuberant, and terrified. 

“I’m also not going to stretch you,” Will informed him coolly, unclipping the cord from Hannibal’s collar and pretending what Hannibal had said hadn’t sent his heart racing.  “Not much anyway.”  He pulled the cord out from under the leather sleeve binding.  “I’m going to keep you—” Will continued as he carefully extracted the hook.  “—Nice and _tight_ ,” he said, the ball at the tip of the hook coming out with a slight _pop._ Hannibal’s ring flared.  “Well.  As tight as a slut like you ever is.” 

That last bit had been unfair, unnecessary, and more than a little unkind, and Will paused, half-waiting for Hannibal to interject.   When there was nothing, he retrieved a bottle of lubricant, continuing to talk as he slid a single slippery finger into Hannibal’s hole. 

“I’m going to lube you up,” Will explained as he coated Hannibal’s inner walls with as much slick as he could manage.  “But that’s all.”  He slid the finger in and out, adding more and more lube with each insertion.  “The next thing you feel,” he said, giving Hannibal’s hole a _little_ stretch as he made a tugging circle along the inner rim.  “Will be my cock forcing its way inside.  And you will _feel_ —” He hooked his finger, pulling on the bottom edge of Hannibal’s pucker.  “— _Every_ bit of it.”

He pulled his finger out, wiping it on the towel by his knee.  Then he took Hannibal by the hips, curling his fingers in as he gazed coldly down at Hannibal’s prone form. 

“I’m going to use you,” he almost whispered, reveling in the rich sense of power that flooded through him—a recognizable and familiar drug by this point, though no less potent for its now intimate acquaintanceship.  “Like the _fuck toy_ I’ve come to _know_ that you are.” He yanked back on Hannibal’s hips, making the clip on the front of his collar rattle, his words gritty and dark, each one pulling from his mouth like a tooth.  “I’m going to _take_ my pleasure in you, and give you nothing back but pain and the…” He trailed off, lips twisting in a mocking smile.  “… _Honor,”_ he finished. “Of being a hole for my cock.” 

He remembered then, Hannibal lying unconscious on his bed, naked and helpless.  Will had used him then too, but this felt _entirely_ different.  Hannibal’s awareness colored it all, making it a more pointed kind of callousness.  Before, Will had been cruelly selfish; now he was being selfishly cruel. 

“ _Yes_.” 

The breathy moan, almost too quiet to hear, broke through the musings in Will’s mind like a thunderclap.

“ _Please_.”

If the first word had been thunder, than this was electricity, zapping up through Hannibal into Will and covering his skin in fizzling sparks 

“…What did you say?”  Will whispered tightly.  Hannibal didn’t answer, though Will heard his breath hitch.  Will swallowed, clearing his throat.  “I told you to only use that word if meant it,” he said, a hint of warning in his voice. 

“—I mean it,” Hannibal spoke out between soft gasps.  “Please, I…I _want_ …” 

Will was quiet.  “What do you want, Hannibal.”  His voice dropped down, guttural and hard.  “What _exactly_ are you begging for?” 

There was trembling silence, as though the string of a cello had been plucked but for some reason made no sound.  Then, Hannibal began to speak--his voice slow but not hesitating, hushed but not hoarse.  His breath filled each word, but there was nothing choked or reluctant in them.  If anything, his tone was filled with a forceful tranquility, like the roaring, crushing spray of a waterfall.

“I am begging,” he said.  “To be _used_.”  There was a low, almost surprised gasp, and Hannibal’s next words were thick with raw, vibrant need.  “ _Please_ ,” he begged.  “Use me.  Ravage me.  _P_ _lunder_ my body for your pleasure.  Let me have your whims and your cruelties--every one of them.  Let me _ache_ with them.  Let me…” He stopped, panting.  “ _Feel…every_ bit of you.Mark each of your cravings and urges into my flesh like an inked inscription—let me bear them, to be read and incanted at your leisure.  Allow me _all_ of your desires, both petty and vulgar.  Let me serve them, let me be..." There was a crackling silence.  "... _Ruined_ by them.”

Hannibal's body shook weakly then, a faint, thin whine slipping from his throat. 

“Take  _everything_ you wish from me,” Hannibal whispered.  “Without mercy.  Without remorse.  Hold nothing back.  If you give me only the fullness of your own pleasure—the _completeness_ of your satisfaction—then…”  His shoulders shuddered, fingers clenching at the small of his back.  “ _Then_ _I will be grateful_.” 

He arched his back, pressing his spine into an unnatural looking curve-- _supplicating_.  Submitting. 

“Make me your whore.”  He implored, ardent and needy, his voice falling to a ragged snarl.  “Your _bitch_.  Let me be nothing but a—” He sucked in a hiss.  “ _Hole_ for your _cock,_ only let me be _yours_.” 

That last word ended in a whimper, the strength of his voice finally breaking into shattered shards.  The piteousness of it pulled at an ache in Will’s chest—a fluttering of trapped wings.  It marked an instinct to soothe.  To show tenderness in the wake of Hannibal’s… _capitulation_ , an act so complete and so undeniably _true_  it left tears hovering behind Will’s eyes.  But Hannibal hadn’t asked for tenderness—and the louder roaring in Will’s blood didn’t want to give it either. 

Reaching down over the slope of Hannibal’s back, Will placed a hand to the back of Hannibal’s neck, his palm resting over the line of the collar.  His fingers wrapped around the nape, firmly at first, and then more harshly, applying increasing pressure until Hannibal let out a pained gasp. 

“You _are_ mine, Hannibal,” Will growled, pinching the skin at the nape of Hannibal’s neck.  “You don’t have to beg for that.  And any time you forget that irrefutable fact,” Will continued, gripping his fingers into Hannibal’s hair and yanking back.  “ _I will remind you_.” 

Hannibal whimpered again—a wet, mewling, _grateful_ sound—and Will discarded his hold on him, letting his head fall back to the mat.  He sat back on his heels and wrenched open his trousers, shoving them down around his thighs.  Hooking thumbs slid his underwear down his hips to free his erection, which sprang out, hot and bloated and eager to take Hannibal at his word.  He squeezed a palm-full of lube along its length and then gripped hold of Hannibal’s hips.    

Without any further thought or consideration, Will pressed the head of his cock to Hannibal’s hole and shoved inside.  He grunted, pushing past the tight outer ring of muscle till he was forced to stop, gasping for breath mere inches within Hannibal’s opening. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed, groaning at the constricting heat squeezing his cock. 

Groping at the notches at Hannibal’s hips, Will yanked back as he snapped his hips forward with all his strength.  A third hard thrust, and he was finally buried fully inside, the front of his pelvis slamming jerkingly into the Hannibal’s fleshy backside.  He rested there a moment to catch his breath.

He noticed the quiet then, and Hannibal’s curious silence was suddenly a nagging distraction.  He spared a glance to the man’s face and saw him biting down hard on his bottom lip, a trickle of blood sliding down his chin. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Will groaned, letting every ounce of the pleasure assailing his cock bleed into his voice.  Hannibal almost flinched at his words, then let out a deep groan of his own, his body undulating as he pushed his ass up and back onto Will’s cock.  “Such a sweet, tight, _fucking_ hole.” 

With that, Will pulled half-way out, smashing back in to the sound of Hannibal’s ecstatic whimperings.  Letting out a grunting sigh, Will fucked in again, and then again.  His thrusts were uneven and ragged, each one demanding Hannibal open to him with harsh, uncompromising insistence.  He felt like he was routing him, digging a hole through him like a screw, and he wondered if it felt that way to Hannibal—if he felt gouged, stabbed, _impaled_ through the center and filled with Will’s thickness all the way to his throat. 

 _His ass is gonna feel ruined,_ Will thought viciously, the phantom taste of blood and smoke in his mouth.  _Wrecked and pillaged like the broken walls of a ransacked castle. He’ll feel it for days, weeks maybe.  In the morning, he might not even be able to **walk**_. 

It was _that_ thought that sent him over the edge.  He rutted, jerking inside Hannibal as he came with a snarl.  He pushed up hard against Hannibal’s ass as spunk poured into it in irregular, surging waves, filling him up with it as though he could use it to seal away whatever it was Hannibal was feeling and keep it there forever. 

Once he was spent, he stayed there, pressed flush to Hannibal’s quivering backside, still thrusting weakly with shallow twitches of his hips; he was loath to leave the snug warmth that hugged tightly around him, and it in turn seemed to greedily suck him in, pulsing with an scorching insistence as though to say _stay, stay, stay._  

With a resigned--yet satisfied--sigh, Will finally extracted himself; his limp cock drew out from Hannibal’s pucker, trailing cum and leaving strings of the milky fluid sticking to the rim of Hannibal's hole and down his crack.  More spunk squirted out a moment later.  Will cleaned himself off with the towel but left Hannibal untouched--left him filthy and dripping with his juices.  He eyed Hannibal’s despoiled entrance as he tucked himself away and pulled up his pants, tilting his head as he looked at it with dispassionate gratification.  The ring of muscle had grown puffy, swollen and red; he hadn’t torn or bled, but he still looked raw and bruised, and Will wondered if the hidden inner walls of his passage were equally inflamed from being so brutally wrenched and rammed open. 

Hannibal’s cock looked nearly as bad Will noted, dropping his gaze lower, flushed a deep purple and bobbing stiffly between his open thighs.  Will hadn’t been sure he’d even manage to get fully erect again after the strength of his first orgasm, but apparently he’d underestimated the breadth and depth of his effect on Hannibal--Will’s malicious depravity had clearly played perfectly to Hannibal’s own perversions. 

 _The nastier I am to you the more you like it,_ Will thought ruefully.  _I beat and abuse and use you, and you beg for more_. 

A complex swirling of emotions churned and sputtered in his stomach--cool vindication along with warm affection, scalding lust and chilling horror—all writhing and devouring each other endlessly. 

Reaching out with an apparent impassiveness that belied his inner turmoil, Will used one finger to pull the tip of Hannibal’s cock back between his legs, bending the rigid flesh up towards the curve of his ass before carelessly letting it fall again to swing dolefully under his thighs.  A low groaning rang out balefully for the space of a heartbeat before falling silent again. 

Hannibal wouldn’t ask for relief; Will knew that.  He’d keep to his word—to every one of his words.  He’d suffer for the sake of Will’s sadistic whimsy, and he’d do so without ire or complaint.  Absently, Will put his finger into his mouth, sucking at a drop of pre-cum that had clung to it from the tip of Hannibal’s cock.  His eyelids fluttered briefly at the taste, and he looked again at Hannibal’s thick, throbbing length.  Licking his lips thoughtfully, Will contemplated the proud contours of Hannibal’s straining erection with a glimmer of greed, regretting a bit that he’d so firmly declared his intent to leave Hannibal unsatisfied. 

On the other hand, he reflected, Hannibal _had_ requested he leave no craving unfulfilled…

 _Fuck it_. 

Shrugging away the ties of his past intentions in favor of his current wants, Will turned onto his back and slithered under the arc of Hannibal’s pelvis—kind of like a mechanic working on the undercarriage of a car he thought with a snort.  Eye to eye—as it were—with Hannibal’s eagerly waiting cock, he grinned.  Wolfishly smiling, he fondled the dipping curve of Hannibal’s stomach, skating his fingers across the coarse hairs running down to his groin.  He played at the indent of his belly-button a moment and then, unhesitating, reached around to grab two handfuls of Hannibal’s ass and wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. 

Hannibal let out an undignified squeal, hips stuttering, and Will had to fight back the urge to chuckle around his girth.  He lifted his head, bobbing and sucking his way down bit by bit.  He moaned wantonly as he went, relishing the taste of hot flesh on his tongue.  Squeezing Hannibal’s thrashed cheeks, Will tilted his head, urging the tip of Hannibal’s cock closer and closer to the back of his throat.  The blunt head brushed against his gag reflex, but he swallowed it back, needing the pulsing hotness of Hannibal’s cock, needing to feel it deeper, _deeper_ —

The moment it slipped down his open throat almost felt like an accident.  He let it sit, relishing the weight of it, and then groaned, the sound of it echoing up through the caverns of his chest.  He groped mindlessly at Hannibal’s ass, pulling and rubbing at his cheeks with reveling glee.  Some of Will’s fingers found themselves stroking and prodding at Hannibal’s puffy, cum-stained pucker, and he thrust two of them inside, fucking roughly into Hannibal’s already ruinously fucked-out hole.  Hannibal gave a wounded screech at the invasion, sharp and short, his sore ring first clenching and then flaring around Will’s jabbing digits. 

It was a little surprising Hannibal hadn’t come already, Will pondered, his throat contracting around the head of Hannibal’s cock, and he wondered if Hannibal was deliberately holding back his orgasm since Will had told him he wasn’t allowed another one.  He should probably let him know about his change of plans, Will reflected, but he couldn’t quite force himself to detach his mouth from the meat of Hannibal’s cock.  So instead he just sealed his lips around the swollen member and sucked harder. 

A ragged, throaty moan tore from Hannibal’s throat, and now Will was certain he was stopping himself from coming, likely taking Will’s ministrations as yet another malicious entertainment at his expense.  Will was honestly impressed at his self-control, and he’d be tempted to let him go on subjecting himself to this self-imposed torture… _except_ that he was feeling _very adamant_ about getting a mouthful of Hannibal’s spunk to swallow. 

Giving Hannibal’s cock another firm suck, he pushed his fingers in deeper, the cum in Hannibal’s ass squelching around the insistent digits.  He prodded roughly at Hannibal’s swollen prostate, curt and impatient.  When that only made Hannibal’s stomach clench tight above him, he lifted his other hand from Hannibal’s ass and brought it down in a hard, punishing _smack!_  

Hannibal jerked in mouth, his whole body tensing as perspiration rolled down the line of his torso.  Will whacked him again, even harder, and this time Hannibal gave a long breathy, whine, like a kettle beginning to boil.  Another merciless wallop, and Hannibal was coming, gushing into Will’s mouth like popped Champagne.  He let out one helpless, wailing screech, and then seemed to slump, allowing the shakes of his orgasm to roll through him while he hung, loose and blubbering, against the matted surface under him. 

Will didn’t pay him much mind, preoccupied with swallowing the brackish fluids flooding his mouth and throat.  He did so eagerly, certain Hannibal’s cum had never before tasted this delectable, the aromas of his anguished desperation and defeat rendering the flavor almost sweet to Will’s tongue. 

When he was satiated, having swallowed every gluttonous drop, he drew his mouth from Hannibal’s glistening member with a sigh.  It hung over him, limp and drained, and Will wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a half-smile playing at his lips.  He pulled his other hand from Hannibal’s hole, eyeing the cum that now coated his fingers and dripped down his wrist. 

Pushing himself out from between Hannibal legs, he sat up, only now becoming aware of the hot flush burning his face and the beads of sweat running from his brow.  He looked at his hand again, turning it over and wriggling his cum-stained fingers. 

Unthinking, he stood and walked around the side of the dais.  He looked down at Hannibal’s face, still turned to one side and pressed against the firm tatami.  His eyes were closed, his jaw slack; the cord that held him like a leash ran from the ring under his chin along the surface of the mat in front of his nose. 

Will reached out with one hand and traced the curve of Hannibal’s bloody lips with his fingers, smearing them with cum.  Hannibal lay unmoving, lax and passive under his touch.  He coaxed Hannibal’s softly parted lips to open further and pressed his fingers inside.  He felt around in Hannibal’s mouth with the sticky digits, prodding at his cheeks and tongue. 

Hannibal didn’t respond.  Even his tongue laid flat and unassertive as Will stroked it. 

Will flashed back then to Hannibal sitting in his armchair, heavy and slow in his drugged sluggishness, and to his first questing touches to the man's unresisting mouth. 

 _And here we are_ , he thought, swallowing mutely.  _Full circle_. 

Something uncomfortable settled in his chest; the sense of rolling backwards—pulled ever back and back by the irrefutable and unchangeability of the past.  His stomach began to lurch, as though from a sudden drop. 

Then, all of a sudden...Hannibal’s eyes opened.

They turned, rolling to stare up at Will at a harsh angle.  Hannibal made no other movements, his mouth and face remaining utterly impassive, but now the glittery darkness of his eyes gazed up raptly: clear, piercing, and unequivocally _awake_. 

Will’s hand stilled.  Hannibal’s eyes stayed trained on him, unblinking.  His mouth still hung partly open, a hint of drool beginning to form under the curve of his inner bottom lip, next to a spot of clotting blood where the skin had been broken.  He watched Will with no hint of impatience, or even longing—only an enduring sense of waiting, unruffled and receptive.  There was such an air of meditative stillness about him that Will could almost mistake it for being a sign that he’d distanced himself from these proceedings—blocked out all the cascading sensations in the way Will knew that he could if he really wished.  But Will knew he hadn’t.  Somehow, he knew that despite his present quietude, Hannibal could still feel _everything_.

Drawing his fingers out he pulled down on Hannibal’s torn lip, watching as a speck of drool fell down his chin.  Then he stiffened his fingers into a firm line and thrust them back in.  He fucked into the cavern of Hannibal’s studiously docile mouth—a mimicry of what he’d done to his other tighter, filthier hole—and painted it with the cum he’d taken from his ass.  All the while, Hannibal gazed up at him with conscious, undisturbed acceptance. 

When he felt content with how much he’d dirtied Hannibal’s mouth, he drew his fingers out and went to grab a fresh towel.

“You can swallow,” he said dryly, looking down at Hannibal’s still slackened jaw as he wiped off his hand.  There was a beat, and then Hannibal slowly shut his mouth, swallowed the cum and saliva inside. Once his hand was cleaned, Will stooped and wiped the errant blood and drool from Hannibal’s mouth.  Hannibal’s eyes tracked him, never leaving his face even for a moment. 

“I thought I wasn’t to be allowed a second orgasm,” he said finally as Will pulled the towel from his chin. 

His voice was soft, but still rich and deep, and Will felt a shiver run through him.  He disguised it with a sigh and a shrug, dropping his hand to his side.

“I changed my mind,” he said simply.    

Hannibal smiled, small and soft. 

Will took in a breath and turned away, moving to work open the leather straps at Hannibal’s thighs.  As they fell away they left behind deep indentations.  They’d likely settle into bruises in a few hours, and Will rubbed rough, soothing hands over the blemished skin.  Next he unwound the leather cord from where it was tethered to the front of the dais, taking hold of the now loose end in one hand. 

He looked over Hannibal’s bent form, still holding the position he’d been placed in.  Will knew he should be undoing what was left of Hannibal’s bonds.  That he should unlace the leather sleeve from his arms and take the collar from his neck.  That he should let Hannibal dress, to pull on the soft knitted sweater he’d come in.  Maybe clean him up a bit first, Will amended, thinking of the cum beginning to drip down his thighs  He could feel the shadow of Hannibal’s clothes, whispering from the cabinet over his shoulder. 

“Can you stand?”  The question came out like a croak. 

There was a pause, and then Hannibal nodded.  Gradually, he began to lift himself from the mat underneath him, sluggishly rising onto his heels.  Will walked around the dais as he moved, shifting the braided cord Hannibal was leashed with from one hand to another as he moved around the metal beams.  Once he was stood behind Hannibal, he placed a hand on his shoulder and helped ease him backwards onto his feet.  Hannibal’s toes slipped off the edge of the tatami, testing the distance to the floor, and then settled firmly onto the surface.  He stood upright, only swaying slightly on his bare feet, with Will perched at his shoulder.  Will wrapped the end of the leash absently around his palm, eyeing Hannibal warily.  Hannibal kept his eyes downcast, a slight cant forward in his normally elegantly erect posture. 

“Come on,” Will murmured, tugging lightly at the leash. 

He led Hannibal out through the door, locking it behind him.  There was more to clean up, but he’d deal with that later.  Hannibal had seemed a little unsteady as he’d stepped across the threshold into the outer basement, but he hadn’t stumbled or slipped.  Now he stood quietly by Will’s side, eyes still lowered, while Will fumbled with the lock.  Will was suddenly deeply conscious of his dirtied clothes and socked feet, of the way his hair stuck to the sweat on his brow.  Once he’d finished, he put the key back in his pocket and turned from the door, coming to a sudden halt as his eye landed on the metal table in the middle of the room.

Bare and unassuming, it sat innocuously; even the straps hanging from it held only a hint at the horrors it had witnessed the night before.  Will blinked...and suddenly the scene changed. 

The metal was now stained and bloody, the straps stretched taut around a breathing body.  But It wasn’t their poor unfortunate ‘guest’ from last night laying against its unforgiving surface—no. 

It was Hannibal.  Naked, his legs spread obscenely by stirrups conjured by Will’s imagination.  Blood stained the insides of his thighs, though Will didn’t look closely at where it was coming from.  It wasn’t even clear to him whether the blood marring Hannibal’s skin and staining the cool metal of the table underneath him was his, or someone else’s. 

Abruptly, Will was no longer standing across the room, but looming directly over Hannibal’s prone form.  The bit of an electric drill was pressed to Hannibal’s temple, Will’s finger ready on the trigger.  Hannibal looked up at him, calm and composed, a steady glowing warmth pouring from his eyes. 

 _I thought, perhaps, you might like to make some marks to match your own_.

Hannibal’s lips hadn’t moved, but Will had heard the words as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud.  He thought of the scar running across his forehead; of sitting drugged and unsteady at a table in Florence, Hannibal chatting to Jack at the other end.  He remembered that conversation only vaguely, bits and pieces floating through a drug and pain addled mind, but he did recall something about chewing brains and the transition from figurative to literal.  His eyes refocused on the metal point set against Hannibal’s temple.  He pulled the drill away, clenching the handle in his hand. 

“It was never your _brain_ I really got to chew on,” he said huskily, drawing the drill down to Hannibal’s chest. 

He laid it at the curve of his breast, pointing down over his heart.  Hannibal’s expression remained unchanged, his breathing even and untroubled.  Will took a moment to inspect the tip of the drill digging into the muscle of Hannibal chest.  Then, he turned it on. 

Blood erupted outward as the spinning bit burrowed through skin, and meat, and bone.  When it punctured the beating muscle of Hannibal’s heart, the organ burst like a ripe cherry.  Only then did Hannibal show any kind of response. 

He arched against the table and cried out, his motions reflecting not the throws pain, but of rapture-- 

Will blinked again, coming back to himself with a small gasp.  The vision had dissolved, but shadows of it warped unevenly at the corners of his eyes.  He looked over at Hannibal, who stood peering at him in the dark.  Will swallowed, pushing away the remnants of his waking dream in the hope that Hannibal wouldn’t see them reflected in his eyes. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” 

 

Emerging from the basement and making their way through the downstairs was an odd experience; as much as Hannibal had encouraged Will to make this house his home, it was still all undeniably _Hannibal’s_.  His mark was stamped into every room, from the kitchen to the study to the hallways connecting them, and walking through or past each one with Hannibal leashed behind him—naked except for objects meant to restrain and subjugate—felt like parading a fallen and enslaved monarch through their conquered realm.  It struck Will as vibrantly obscene, maybe more so than anything he’d done to Hannibal down in the basement behind a closed door. 

Hannibal following him meekly with his head half-bowed wasn’t helping matters, and Will finally had to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder yet again as they marched steadily up the stairs.  Why he’d wanted to do this he had no idea; he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to let Hannibal _go_ —not completely, not yet.  His hand curved around the leash in his hand.  He just wanted this a little bit longer, he told himself, just a little while more.  He’d let Hannibal out of it all soon, just…not _yet._

 _Just a bit more_ , he half prayed inside his head.  _Just a little while longer._  

He had a brief second of panicked indecision in the hall upstairs, glancing from the door to Hannibal’s room to his own.  He picked Hannibal’s, not letting himself think about it all that much. 

 _It doesn’t matter and you’re being ridiculous,_ he scolded himself as he opened the door.  _Stop it._

Inside he led Hannibal to the bed.  With a touch of Will’s hand between his shoulders, Hannibal climbed on, kneeling silently at the foot of the mattress with a bowed head and sloped shoulders.  Slipping the braided leather of the leash around one wrist, Will finally set about working open the laces at Hannibal’s back.  Hannibal kept quiet and still as he tugged them loose, his only movement the subtle rise of his shoulders as he breathed.  Once the sleeve had been loosened enough to be pulled off Will let it drop to the floor.  Hannibal arms fell to rest at his sides with a slight roll of his shoulders, his fingers flexing subtly beside his thighs.  Will moved to the side of the bed, letting the leash pull out between them, and turned down the covers.    

“Lie down,” he said softly. 

Hannibal let out a deep, resonant sigh, immediately reaching out his arms to help lower himself to the bed.  He slid forward on his hands, stretching languidly against the bedding in a low arch before lowering his head onto a crisp, fluffy pillow with a muffled groan.  He wrapped his arms around the cushioning below his head and tugged it down under his chest, practically purring as he nuzzled into the soft, clean fabric. 

Will smiled to himself; Hannibal had never so unmistakably resembled the Big Cat of Chiyoh’s allegory, and the flagrant laziness in Hannibal’s limbs—uncontrolled, but still effortlessly graceful—was beyond endearing.  The image was only assisted by the thick collar at Hannibal’s neck, and the leash trailing off of it.  Will worried the ends of the leather between his fingers, chewing distractedly on his bottom lip. 

_Just a little longer._

Carefully, Will bent down and tied the end of the leash to the headboard.  He used a bowline knot—secure, but easy enough to undo—and Hannibal could free himself with a flick of his wrist if he was so inclined. 

He wasn’t, apparently, at least not at the moment.  He made no acknowledgement of the leash at all in fact, just let it hang loosely from his throat, his eyes comfortably closed as he snuggled against the pillow. 

Reluctantly, Will tore his eyes away from Hannibal’s tousled head and slid down the length of his body.  He winced when he reached his backside—an entirely normal reflexive response that had eluded him up till now.  Briskly, Will made his way to Hannibal’s bathroom cabinet to pull out some first aid, detouring only to splash cold water against his face. 

Returning, he perched beside Hannibal on the bed.  He started by washing the ravaged skin with a cool cloth, trying to go as gently as he could.  Though making sure all the stray bits of cum were cleaned from Hannibal’s rump and between his cheeks made that only minimally possible.  Hannibal didn’t appear to react, lying calmly on his front as Will worked, his toes delicately folded against each other like combed feathers. 

Next was the disinfectant; Will poured some onto a cotton swab, studying the gashes in Hannibal’s skin.  None of them were bleeding, but some of the marks from the cane had opened into red sores.  And then there was the rest of his ass, which looked positively rubbed raw in places. 

“...This will probably sting,” Will advised with a contrite glance toward Hannibal.

Hannibal finally deigned to raise his head, turning over his shoulder to look at Will with an expression so incredulous that Will had to duck his head, blushing.  ‘ _Really?_ ’ he seemed to be saying.  ‘ _You’re concerned about **that** after what you did to me?_ ’  Will bit back a mumbled apology, and set about dabbing the disinfectant into Hannibal’s sores, waiting for the heat in his face to go down. 

Hannibal laid his head back down.  He didn’t even flinch when the disinfectant touched his flogged skin, and Will felt a faint rumble in his belly at the thought that a man that shrugged off so much physical pain and suffering had been virtually screaming thanks to his attentions not too long ago.  Worse, Will almost felt _proud_ of that fact, the memories of it filling him with much more pleasant warmth than any disgust or horror. 

Lastly, Will laid a coating of cooling protective lotion over everything, dipping down into Hannibal’s cleft to smear a generous amount over his swollen pucker as well. 

“I know your ass probably hurts like hell,” Will said, sealing the various containers and setting them aside.  He wiped some left over lotion stuck on his trousers before he stood up.  They were already stained anyway.  “But aside from that,” he met Hannibal’s eyes.  “Are you…okay?” 

The corners of Hannibal lips curved up, slow and lazy.  He nodded, humming rumblingly against the pillow. 

“Yes.  More than.”  He let out a long sigh then, shaking his head with a kind of wonderment.  “I have hardly been dissatisfied with any of our…activities.”  He glanced up at Will coquettishly.  “But this…” He sighed again, eyelids fluttering closed.  “This was something altogether beyond.”  He pressed his mouth into the pillow, mumbling.  “I am far beyond ‘okay’, I am…” He searched for a moment.  “ _Transcendent_.” 

Will sat down on the bed, a warm smile on his face.  “You look it,” he found himself saying, reaching out to tuck back a strand of Hannibal’s hair.  “You’re…practically glowing.” 

And he was, Will realized, astonished he hadn’t noticed before.  There was a sheen to Hannibal skin, some of which was probably from sweat, but there was something else—something that effused from under the skin, all across his body.  It shone, warm and golden, almost bleeding into the air with its intensity.  Luminous.  Gleaming.  _Radiant._  

Will stroked the side of Hannibal face, watching as his fingers seemed to dip into the light that surrounded it.  Softly, Hannibal covered Will’s hand with his own, enveloping it in its glowing warmth.  He brought Will’s hand to his mouth and pressed a deep kiss to his knuckles.  The points of his incisors peeked out from under his lips, brushing Will’s skin with a hint of their sharpness. 

“All thanks to you,” Hannibal said fervently, catching Will’s eyes, his voice reverberating with sincerity. 

Will blushed again, abruptly embarrassed.  He tugged his hand away, running it restlessly through his hair, and stood back up.  Standing awkwardly, he started working open the buttons of his shirt, just to give his fingers something to do. 

“I must’ve stumbled into triggering some kind of…” He rambled, stripping out of his shirt and then moving to his pants.  “…neurochemical response.  A…chain reaction of releasing endorphins, or something like that.” 

He finished with an absent wave of his hand, now standing in his boxers.  Hannibal was looking up at him, plainly amused.  There was a pause, and then Hannibal nuzzled back into his pillow, tucking it under his cheek as he closed his eyes. 

“If you are attempting de-romanticize this experience for me,” he scolded dreamily.  “You are not succeeding.” 

Will’s face cracked into a smile then.  With a small sigh he sat back down on the bed and unclipped the leather cord from Hannibal’s collar.  He untied it from the bed, looping it in a loose circle before setting it aside on the nightstand. 

“Scoot over,” he nudged.  Hannibal grumbled softly, but dutifully shifted to the other side of the bed. 

Will slid down, pulling the covers up over them both, which Hannibal allowed with a bit of wriggling.  Then they lay facing each other, gazing silently and comfortably into each other’s eyes in a way Will had always assumed was a thing made up for movies.  Softly, he reached out and let his fingers stroke down a lock of Hannibal’s hair, not to tuck it away or brush it from his face this time, but just to touch.  He slid his hand back into the rest of Hannibal’s hair, kneading gently at the nape of his neck.  Hannibal exhaled, soft and content, and let his eyes fall closed.  Will continued his petting, enjoying the way the hairs at the back of Hannibal’s neck brushed through his fingers. 

Slowly, Will shifted his hand down to stroke along the line of the collar and the skin it touched.  He swallowed, biting his lip.  It was absurd, but that reluctance was still there.  He just…didn’t want to break this final seal.  He frowned, because it didn’t make any sense—at this point the collar was little more than an accessory.  It wasn’t _binding_ Hannibal to anything.  So, why was he so unwilling to part with it? 

Further, it was rather discourteous of him to leave Hannibal in a heavy leather collar overnight.  Christ, he thought, remembering back to earlier, what about Hannibal’s time in Mason Verger’s care?  He’d nearly forgotten about that, but it came roaring back now—and sure, Hannibal had seemed fine with it when he was blissed out and aroused, but that was completely different than sleeping in it or— _God_ —waking up with it on. 

Will swallowed, a thick lump forming in is throat.  Pushing past the selfish desire that still implored him not to, Will took a firmer hold of the collar and tugged at the fold of the buckle. 

In an instant, Hannibal’s hand was wrapped around his wrist, fixed and unyielding.  Will’s fingers froze, as much out of startlement as anything else.  Though he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Hannibal’s drowsy bliss hadn’t been any impairment to his reflexes.  Turning uncertainly from the hand at his wrist, Will found Hannibal’s eyes staring out at some middle distance, a strange, uneasy look on his face.

“Don’t.” Hannibal said tightly.  He seemed almost as caught off guard as Will was.  “Leave it.” 

Will’s fingers began to curl back instinctively, more than eager to comply with that, but Will made them pause. 

“…Are you sure?” he asked, cautious.  “It won’t remind you of anything…” Will paused, thinking of the word Hannibal had used earlier.  “…Unpleasant?”

There was a tense silence.  Hannibal’s brow creased.  Then, he gave a little shake of his head, eyes flickering.  “No.”  He said it with a note of discovery, marveling.  He met Will’s eyes again, his own now filled with clarity.  “No.” He said firmly.  “It will only remind me of you.” 

Will looked into Hannibal’s face, and then nodded.  Hannibal released his wrist, and Will took his hand from his neck.  He wrapped his arm around him, pulling Hannibal to his chest.  Hannibal let out a little sigh and arranged his head to rest against Will’s shoulder, closing his eyes and laying his own arm across Will’s chest to complete the embrace. 

Will’s eyes stayed open, unable to look away from the sight of Hannibal resting easily against him with a collar around his neck.  He kept thinking of Mason.   Of Cordell, and Muskrat Farm.  He thought of the brand at Hannibal’s back, and then of his own scar along his jaw from where Cordell had begun to cut him.  He remembered how Hannibal had blown in like a bloody avenging angel, snapping the arm that held a scalpel to his face.  He’d seen what Cordell had meant to do, and so he’d done the same to him, and with him paralyzed but not unconscious, he’d ripped the face from Cordell’s skull.  The man hadn’t even been able to scream. 

Will had been there, on the table next to him, still paralyzed himself.  Unable to do anything but watch and listen as Hannibal enacted his vicious retribution.  The smell of blood had filled the air, and the scent of it had echoed with the remembered taste of Cordell’s flesh in his mouth.  That, more than anything, is what had stuck with him in the months and years that followed—the taste of blood in his mouth.  How he’d ripped off a piece of Cordell’s face, and then Hannibal had finished the job.  It had always made his stomach twist when he thought of it, fearful of all the things it meant.  All the things he didn’t want to think about, or look at in himself. 

He’d told Hannibal later that he didn’t share his appetite.  Maybe that was true, in a way, but he did share his _tastes_.  That was the ugly truth that moment had made him face.  Because as he’d laid there on his surgical bed while Hannibal tortured a man to death beside him, he’d felt less horror and far more grim satisfaction.  He’d… _appreciated_ the poetry of it, the elegance of Hannibal’s justice.  Calling it _justice_ at all had felt wicked and dirty, but that’s how it had felt to him.  It had felt _right_.  Just as it had felt right to let Hannibal break Mason’s spine, or to stand over an unconscious crime lord and tell Hannibal to cut off the legs. 

He thought back again, to that remembered taste of blood.  To Cordell’s silenced screams that Will had nonetheless been able to hear anyway in the dank hollows of his imagination.  He thought of the snick of the scalpel in Hannibal hand, and the soothing words he’d spoken to Will as he worked, telling him that all had been taken care of and everything was going to be all right and that no one was going to hurt him—

He blinked back tears from his eyes, and touched the pads of his fingers to the leather at Hannibal’s neck. 

Images and sensations flashed across his mind, set against each other like a mosaic. 

Hannibal now, lying in his arms with a collar around his neck.  Hannibal in a collar at Muskrat Farm.  Hannibal in a collar in the basement, begging Will not to stop. 

Cordell.  Mason.  The taste of blood in his mouth. 

A man tied to a surgical table, unconscious.  A man tied to a surgical table, awake.  A man on a surgical bed, awake but unmoving, paralyzed and screaming in his mind. 

The taste of blood in his mouth. 

The flash of a scalpel.  The flash of a butcher knife.  Himself, eating at Hannibal’s table.  Again.  And Again.  And Again. 

Randall Tier. 

Cordell. 

 _Se_ _ñor_. 

The taste of blood, and dragon blood, shining in the moonlight…

He blinked, shaking his head.  He thought again of Hannibal ripping the face off the man who’d tried to kill him. 

This time, he smiled. 

He thought of how he’d shattered the brain of the head of a crime syndicate, how that man was now nothing but a pile of ashes in the gutter—aside from the parts of him sitting in pieces in their refrigerator. 

His smile widened.  He licked his lips.    

He could taste blood in his mouth. 

“Hannibal,” he whispered to the man in his arms.  Hannibal stirred lightly, groaning.  “Hannibal,” he said again, and this time he opened his eyes. 

“Mmm?” He asked, turning his face up towards Will. 

Will felt a flutter in his chest—agitation?  Excitement?  Simply a response to Hannibal’s dark eyes gazing up at him? 

“Tomorrow,” he said.  His tone was hushed, but not faltering.  He carded his fingers through the silk of Hannibal’s hair.  “I want you to make me a feast.” 

Hannibal’s eyes were blank for a moment, and then they lit, like candles of black flame.  He lifted his head, looking into Will’s face.  Questioning.  Will held that gaze, silent and steady. 

Hannibal’s mouth curved, like a bow.

“I will make you a feast,” Hannibal vowed, laying his palm to the side of Will’s face.  “Fit for a king.”  His eyes flickered then, as his voice dropped to a whisper.  “My cruel, beautiful boy.” 

Will felt his heart swell, like there was a tide rushing into it, and he bent to press his mouth against Hannibal’s.  He flicked his tongue inside, sliding the tip of it along the incline of Hannibal’s bottom lip, and tasted blood.                                                                        


End file.
